,%.V!'^. 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


1.0 


I.I 


Ul    12.5 


L25  i  1.4 


m 


1.6 


Photographic 

^Sciences 

Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  873-4503 


■i^K  ^" 


.<^. 


,isr^4^ 


.^ 


^.^^ 


CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHIVI/ICIVIH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  /  Institut  Canadian  de  microreproductiont  hlitoriquM 


Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notes/Notes  tachniquas  at  bibliographiquas 


T 
ti 


Tha  Instituta  has  attamptad  to  obtain  tha  bast 
original  copy  available  for  filming.  Features  of  this 
copy  which  may  be  bibliographically  unique, 
which  may  altar  any  of  tha  images  in  the 
reproduction,  or  which  may  significantly  change 
the  usual  method  of  filming,  are  checked  below. 


□    Coloured  covers/ 
Couverture  de  couleur 


I      I    Covers  damaged/ 


D 


D 


n 


D 


D 


Couverture  endommagia 


Covers  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Couverture  restaur^  et/ou  pellicul6e 


I      I    Cover  title  missing/ 


La  titre  de  couverture  manque 


I      I    Coloured  maps/ 


Cartes  gdographiquas  en  couleur 


Coloured  ink  (i.e.  other  than  'ilue  or  black)/ 
Encre  de  couleur  (i.e.  autre  que  bleue  ou  noiie) 


I      I   Coloured  plates  and/or  illustrations/ 


Planches  et/ou  illustrations  en  couleur 


Bound  with  other  material/ 
Rali6  avec  d'autres  documents 


0    Tight  binding  may  causa  shadows  or  distortion 
along  interior  margin/ 

La  re  liure  serrie  peut  causer  de  I'ombre  ou  de  la 
distortion  le  long  de  la  marge  int^rieure 


Blank  leaves  added  during  restoration  may 
appear  within  the  text.  Whenever  possible,  these 
have  been  omitted  from  filming/ 
II  se  peut  que  certaines  pages  blanches  ajoutias 
lors  d'une  restauration  apparaissent  dans  le  texte, 
mais.  lorsqua  cela  6tait  possible,  ces  pages  n'ont 
pas  iti  fiimtos. 

Additional  comments:/ 
Commantaires  suppldmentaires; 


L'Institut  a  microfilm*  la  meilleur  exemplaira 
qu'il  lui  a  M  possible  de  se  procurer.  Les  details 
de  cet  exemplaira  qui  sont  paut-Atre  uniques  du 
point  de  vue  bibliographique,  qui  peuvent  modifier 
une  image  reproduite,  ou  qui  peuvent  exiger  una 
modification  dans  la  mithoda  normala  de  filmage 
sont  indiqu6s  ci-dessous. 


□   Coloured  pages/ 
Pages  de  coule'jr 

Q    Pages  damaged/ 
Pages  endommagies 

□    Pages  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Pages  restaurdes  et/ou  pellicul6es 


y 


y 


D 


Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  foxed/ 
Pages  ddcolor^es,  tachetdes  ou  piqudes 


□Pages  detached/ 
Pages  d6tach6es 


Showthrough/ 
Transparence 


I      I    Quality  of  print  varies/ 


T 

P 
o 
fl 


C 
b 

tl 

si 

o 

fl 

si 

o 


Quality  indgale  de  I'impression 

Includes  supplementary  material/ 
Comprend  du  material  supplimentaira 

Only  edition  available/ 
Seule  Edition  disponible 


T 
si 
T 

M 

d 

b 
ri 
ri 

nn 


Pages  wholly  or  partially  obscured  by  errata 
slips,  tissues,  etc.,  have  bean  refilmed  to 
ensure  the  best  possible  image/ 
Las  pages  totalement  ou  partiallement 
obscurcies  par  un  feuillet  d'errata,  una  pelure, 
etc.,  ont  6X6  fiimdes  d  nouveau  de  fapon  d 
obtenir  la  meilleure  image  possible. 


This  item  is  filmed  at  the  reduction  ratio  checked  below/ 

Ce  document  est  film*  au  taux  de  reduction  indiqu*  ci-dessous. 

10X  14X  18X  22X 


26X 


30X 


J 

12X 


16X 


20X 


24X 


28X 


32X 


Th«  cc;iy  film«d  h«r«  Hm  b««n  raproducad  thanks 
to  tha  ganarosity  of: 

New  BniiMwick  MuMum 
Saint  John 


L'axamplaira  film*  fut  raproduit  grica  it  la 
g*n4rosit*  da: 

Naw  Brunswick  MuMum 
SiintJohn 


Tha  imagas  appaaring  hara  ara  tha  bast  quality 
posslbia  considaring  tha  condition  and  lagibility 
of  tha  original  copy  and  in  kaaping  with  tha 
filming  contract  spaclficatlona. 


Original  coplas  in  printad  papar  eovars  ara  filmad 
baglnning  with  tha  front  covar  and  anding  on 
tha  last  paga  with  a  printad  or  iliustratad  impraa- 
slon,  or  tha  back  covar  whan  appropriata.  All 
othar  original  coplaa  ara  filmad  baglnning  on  tha 
first  paga  with  a  printad  or  llluatratad  impraa- 
sion,  and  anding  on  tha  laat  paga  with  a  printad 
or  llluatratad  impraaslon. 


Tha  last  racordad  frama  on  aach  microficha 
shall  contain  tha  symbol  —^(moaning  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  tha  symbol  V  (moaning  "END"), 
whichavar  appllas. 


Las  imagas  suivantes  ont  it^  raproduitas  avec  la 
plus  grand  soin,  compta  tanu  da  la  condition  at 
da  la  nattat*  da  l'axamplaira  film*,  at  an 
conformity  avac  las  conditions  du  contrat  da 
filmaga. 

Las  axamplairas  originaux  dont  la  couvartura  an 
papiar  ast  imprimte  sont  fiimte  an  commandant 
par  la  pramiar  plat  at  an  tarminant  solt  par  la 
darnlAra  paga  qui  comporta  una  amprainta 
d'impraasion  ou  d'illustration.  soit  par  la  sacond 
plat,  salon  la  caa.  Tous  las  autras  axamplairas 
originaux  sont  filmte  Btn  commandant  par  la 
pramlAra  paga  qui  comporta  una  amprainta 
d'impraasion  ou  d'illustration  at  en  tarminant  par 
la  darnlAra  paga  qui  comporta  una  talla 
amprainta. 

Un  das  symbolas  suivants  apparaitra  sur  la 
darniAra  imaga  da  chaque  microfiche,  salon  la 
cas:  la  symbols  —^  signifie  "A  SUIVRE".  le 
symboio  V  signifie  "FIN". 


Maps,  plates,  charts,  etc..  may  be  filmed  at 
different  reduction  ratios.  Those  too  large  to  be 
entirely  included  In  one  exposure  ara  filmed 
beginning  in  the  upper  left  hand  corner,  left  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  frames  aa 
required.  The  following  diagrams  illustrate  the 
method: 


Les  cartes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc..  peuvent  dtre 
fllmis  A  des  taux  de  rMuction  diff^rents. 
Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  dtre 
reproduit  en  un  seul  cliche,  il  est  fiimi  d  partir 
de  Tangle  supArieur  gauche,  de  gauche  d  droite. 
et  de  haut  en  bas.  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  nicessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  mdthoda. 


1  2  3 


1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

MIRAMICHI 


'7. 


>/  ). 


^ 


FIBST   EDITIOV. 


•«♦«- 


LORIISra,    Publisher, 

310  WAsniKOTON  Street, 
BOSTON. 

1865. 


Iiii  Hi,li   ,i.j|W|HH.ii  ^> 


{   ■ 


< , 


EmteNd  Mewdlnff  to  Act  of  Cod(nm,  la  the  rmt  1885,  by 

A.   K.   LORIKOi 

Ib  tho  Cterk'i  Offloo  of  tho  Diatriet  Court  of  tbo  Dbtiiet  of  MaiiMlrawliai 


BtenotgrpaA  and  Mntod  by 

J.  B.  Fabwill  avd  OOKrART, 

87  CoagNM  Stieot,  Bocton. 


CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER    I. 
Thi  Dubois  Houis •••••••  t  ••••  •   7 

CHAPTER    II.  > 
MBS.  UoNAB 17 

:'■      '■:    ■-  V..I!-  -,r..  .T^    ,4..     M' 

CHAPTER    III. 
Ub.  Nobton. 96 

CHAPTER    IV. 

MiOAH  MVMMTOHOO .•••*.   V 

CHAPTER    V.    ' 
Hbs.  Lassdowkb. • 48 

CHAPTER    VI. 

<'JOHK,DeAB'' .  49 

CHAPTER    VII. 

A  JOVBKET  THBOUOH  THE  WiLDBBNESS K 

CHAPTER    VIII. 

A  FOVBBAL 03 

CHAPTER    IX. 

ADfiiLB  DCBOIS .70 

■    7    -  -,•  '■    .  ■  »      -,■■--      '    •  -  -   . 

'.'.'-■  .  ■    ..  ' 

1^. 


iy^  CONTENTS.  « 

CHAPTER    X. 

PlOABDT 81 

•  CHAPTER    XI. 

Jf  B.  fiBOWK SB 

CHAPTER    XII. 

A  CA8B  or  COSSOIBlfCB 100 

CHAPTER    XIII. 
The  OjiOVB ••••••    110 

CHAPTER    XIV. 

JOHir  A»D  CiESAR •••     IM 

CHAPTER    XV.    V  » 

TBAVBLUKa  VX  NKW  BBUNSMTICK 129 

CHAPTER    XVI. 
Tbb  Flowxb  Unfolding IM 

CHAPTER    XVII. 

THB  DBBB  hunt «t*«*t«     137 

'/ .         ■  ,  ■--;■.,;■ 

CHAPTER    XVIII. 
Thb  Fbosbcdtion UO 

CHAPTER    XIX. 
Thb  Libutbmant  Qovbbnob us 

»     CHAPTER    XX. 
Mb.  Lansdowne  submits  to  the  Inevitable •••••    lOi 

CHAPTER    XXI. 
Tbovblbd  Heabts 170 

'      "    '  .  '         ^  ■■  ' 

't.  ■'  -       .  ■ 

\'     ■       ■ 


CONTENTS.     •  .    ▼ 

CHAPTER    ZXII. 

A  MXMOBABLX  EVEXT ••••     179 

CHAPTER    XXIII. 
TBS  Bbpabatzow in 

CHAPTER    XXIV. 
Chateau  db  Bosbillon 197 

CHAPTER    XXV. 
Thb  Last  Slbkp •••••••••    91S 

CHAPTER    XXVI. 
FOMTEn 218 

CHAPTER    XXVII. 
OoHOLunoN za 

(.■■  v:;  -T        ■'.,     t-X'  <' 


3.x 


MIRAMICHI 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  DUBOIS  HOUSE. 

"Well,  verily,  I  did  n't  expect  to  find  anything  like 
this,  in  such  a  wild  region,''  said  Mr.  Norton,  as  he  settled 
himself  comfortably  in  a  curiously  carved,  old-fashioned 
arm-chair,  before  the  fire  that  blazed  cheerily  on  the  broad 
hearth  of  the  Dubois  House.  "  Tis  not  a  Yankee  family 
either,"  added  he,  mentally.  *^  Everything  agreeable  and 
tidy,  but  it  looks  imlike  home.  It  is  an  Elim  in  the  desert  I 
Goodly  palmtrees  and  abundant  water !  O I  why,"  he 
exclaimed  aloud,  in  an  impatient  tone,  as  if  chiding  him- 
self, **  should  I  ever  distrust  the  goodness  of  the  Lord?" 

The  firelight,  playing  over  his  honest  face,  revealed  eyes 
moistened  with  the  gratitude  welling  up  in  his  heart.  He 
sat  a  few  minutes  gazing  at  the  glowing  logs,  and  then  his 
eyelids  closed  in  the  blessed  calm  of  sleep.  Weary  trav- 
eller !    He  has  well  earned  repose. 

There  will  hot  be  time,  during  his  brief  nap,  to  tell  who 
and  what  he  wob,  and  why  he  had  come  to  sojourn  far  away 


8 


MIRAMIOHI. 


from  home  and  fKends.  But  let  the  curtain  be  drawn  back 
for  a  moment,  to  reveal  a  glimpse  of  that  strange,  ques- 
tionable countiy  over  which  he  has  been  wandering  for  the 
last  few  months,  doing  hard  service. 

Miramichi,*  a  name  unfamiliar,  perhaps,  to  those  who 
maj  chance  to  read  these  pages,  is  the  designation  of  a 
fertile,  though  partially  cultivated  portion  of  the  important 
province  of  New  Brunswick,  belonging  to  the  British 
Crown.  The  name,  by  no  means  uneuphonious,  is  yet 
suggestive  of  associations  far  from  attractive.  The  Mira- 
michi  River,  which  gives  title  to  this  region,  has  its  rise 
near  the  centre  of  the  provmce,  and  flowing  eastward  emp- 
ties into  the  Gulf  of  St.  Lawrence,  with  Chatham,  a  town 
of  considerable  importance,  located  at  its  mouth. 

The  land  had  originally  been  settled  by  English,  Scotch, 
and  Irish,  whose  business  consisted  mostly  of  fishing  and 
lumbering.  These  occupations,  pyrsued  in  a  wayward  and 
lawless  manner,  had  not  exerted  on  them  an  elevating  or 
refining  influence,  and  the  character  of  the  people  had 
degenerated  from  year  to  year.  From  the  remoteness  and 
obsciuity  of  the  country,  it  had  become  a  convenient  hiding- 
place  for  the  outlaw  and  the  criminal,  and  its  surface  was 
sprinkled  over  with  the  refuse  and  bfiscouring  of  the  New 
England  States  and  the  Province.  With  a  few  rare  excep- 
tions, it  was  a  realm  of  almost  heathenish  darkness  and 
vice.  Such  Mr.  Norton  found  it,  when,  with  heart  full  of 
compassion  and  benevolencei  thirty-five  years  ago*  he  came 

*Fronomiced  Mir'im'Uhei. 


MQUIOGHI. 


to  bear  the  mesMige  of  heayenly  love  and  forgiyeness  to 
tlteae  dwellers  in  death  shade. 

The  Dubois  House,  where  Mr.  Norton  had  found  shelter 
for  the  night,  was  situated  on  the  northern  bank  of  the 
river,  about  sixtj  miles  west  from  Chatham.  It  was  a 
respectable  looking,  two  story  bmlding,  with  large  barps 
acyacent.  Standing  on  a  graceful  bend  of  the  broad 
stream,  it  commanded  river  views,  several  miles  in  extent, 
in  two  directions,  with  a  nearer  prospect  around,  consisting 
of  reaches  of  tall  forest,  interspersed  with  occasional  open- 
ings, made  by  the  rude  settlers. 

Being  the  only  dwelling  in  the  neighborhood  sufficiently 
commodious  for  the  purpose,  its  occupants,  making  a  virtue 
of  necessity,  were  in  the  habit  of  entertaining  occasional 
travellers  who  happened  to  visit  the  region. 

But,  softly, — Mr.  Norton  has  wakened.  He  was  just 
beginning  to  dream  of  home  and  its  dear  delights,  when  a 
door-latch  was  lifted,  and  a  young  gui  entering,  began  to 
make  preparations  for  supper.  She  moved  quickly  towards 
the  fire,  and  with  a  pair  of  iron  tongs,  deftly  raised  the 
ponderous  cover  of  the  Dutch  oveu,  hanging  over  the 
blaze.  The  wheaten  rolls  it  contained  were  nearly  baked, 
and  emitted  a  fragrant  and  appetizing  odor. 

She  refitted  the  cover,  and  then  opening  a  closet,  took 
from  it  a  lacquered  Chinese  teopcoddy  and  a  silver  urn,  and 
proceeded  to  arrange  the  tea-stable. 

Mt*.  Norton,  observing  her  attentively  with  his  keen, 
gray  eyes,  asked,  **  How  long  has  your  father  lived  in  this 
plaoe,  my  child?" 


10 


MTRAMIOHI. 


# 


The  maiden  paused  in  her  employment,  and  glancing  at 
the  broad,  stalwart  form  and  shrewd  yet  honest  face  of  the 
questioner,  replied,  **  Nearly  twenty  years,  sir.** 

Mr.  Norton's  quick  ear  immediately  detected  in  her 
words  a  delicate,  foreign  accent,  quite  unfamiliar  to  him. 
After  a  moment's  silence  he  spoke  again. 

"Dubois, — that  is  your  name,  is  it  not?  A  French 
name?"  • 

**  Yes,  sir,  my  parents  are  natives  of  France." 

**  Ah  I  indeed  I "  responded  Mr.  Norton,  and  the  &mily 
in  which  he  found  himself  was  iounediately  inyested  with 
new  interest  ia  his  eyes. 

"Where  is  your  father  at  the  present  time,  my  dear 
child?" 

"He  is  away  at  Fredericton.  He  has  gone  to  obtain 
family  supplies.  I  hope  he  is  not  obliged  to  be  out  this 
stormy  night,  but  I  fear  he  is."  ;-^r  ;  m 

She  made  the  sign  of  the  cross  on  her  breast  and  glanced 

upward.  /,:;:, 

Mr.  Norton  observed  the  movement,  and  at  the  same 
time  saw,  what  had  before  escaped  his  notice,  a  string  of 
glittering,  black  beads  upon  her  neck,  with  a  black  cross, 
half  hidden  by  the  folds  in  the  waist  of  her  dress.  It  was 
an  iostant  revelation  to  him  of  the  faith  in  which  she  had 
been  trained.     He  fell  into  a  fit  of  musing. 

In  the  mean  time,  Adsle  Dubois  completed  her  prepara- 
tions for  the  tea-table,  —  not  one  of  her  accustomed  duties, 
but  one  which  she  sometimes  took  a  fancy  to  perform. 

She  was  sixteen  years  old, — tail  already,  and  rapidly 


\ 


MTRAMTOHI. 


11 


growing  taller,  with,  a  figure  neither  large,  nor  slender. 
Iler  complexion  was  pure  white,  scarcely  tinged  with 
rose ;  her  eyes  were  large  and  brown,  now  shooting  out  a 
bright,,  joyous  light,  then  veiled  in  dreamy  shadows.  A 
rich  mass  of  dark  hair  was  divided  into  braids,  gracefully 
looped  up  around  her  head.  Her  dress  was  composed  of  a 
plain  red  material  of  wool.  Her  only  ornaments  were  the 
rosary  and  cross  on  her  neck. 

A  mulatto  girl  now  appeared  from  the  adjoining  kitchen 
and  placed  upon  the  table  a  dish  of  cold,  sliced  chicken, 
boiled  eggs  ind  pickles,  together  with  the  steaming  wheat- 
en  rolls  from  the  Dutch  oven. 

Adele  having  put  some  tea  in  the  urn,  poured  boiling 
water  upon  it  and  lefb  the  room. 

Returmng  in  a  few  minutes,  accompanied  by  her  mother 
and  Mrs.  McNab,  they  soon  drew  up  around  the  tea-table. 

When  seated,  Mrs.  Dubois  and  Adele  made  the  sign  of 
the  cross  and  closed  their  eyes.  Mrs.  McNab,  glancing  at 
them  deprecatingly  for  a  moment,  at  length  fixed  her  gaze 
on  Mr.  Norton.  He  also  closed  his  eyes  and  asked  a 
mute  blessing  upon  the  food.  -«^4  - 

Mrs.  Dubois  was  endowed  with  delicate  features,  a  sofl, 
Madonna  like  expression  of  countenance,  elegance  of  move- 
ment and  a  quiet,  yet  gracious  manner.  Attentive  to 
those  around  the  board,  she  said  but  little.  Occasionally, 
she  listened  in  abstracted  mood  to  the  beating  storm 
without. 

Mrs.  McNab,  a  middle-aged  Scotch  woman,  with  a 
short,  square,  ample  form,  filled  up  a  large  portion  of  the 


^ 


mfmmmln 


r 


12 


MIBAMICHI. 


U 


9ide  of  the  table  she  occupied.  Her  coarae-featured,  heayy 
face,  surrounded  by  a  broad,  muslin  cap  finll,  that  nearly 
covered  her  harsh  yellow  hair,  was  lighted  up  by  a  pair  of 
small  gray  eyes,  expressing  a  mixture  of  cunning  and  curi- 
osity. Her  rubicund  visage,  gaudy-colored  chintz  dress, 
and  yellow  bandanna  handkerchief,  produced  a  sort  of 
glaring  sun-flower  effect,  not  mitigated  by  the  contrast 
afforded  by  the  other  members  of  the  group. 

**  Madam,"  said  Mr.  Norton  to  Mrs.  Dubois,  on  seeing 
her  glance  anxiously  at  the  windows,  as  the  wild,  equinoc- 
tial gale  caused  them  to  clatter  violently,  **  do  you  fear 
that  your  husband  is  exposed  to  any  particular  danger  at 
this  time?"  ^ 

**  No  special  danger. ,  But  it  is  a  lawless  country.  The 
night  is  dark  and  the  storm  is  loud.  I  wish  he  were 
safely  at  home,"  replied  the  lady. 

<<Your  solicitude  is  not  strange.  But  you  may  trust 
him  with  the  Lord.  Under  His  protectioYi,  not  a  hair  of 
his  head  can  be  touched."  -    ;  i^v 

Before  Mrs.  Dubois  had  time  to  reply,  Mrs.  McNab, 
looking  rather  fiercely  at  Mr.  Norton,  said,  "Yerdinna 
suppose,  sir,  if  the  Lord  had  decreed  from  all  eternity 
that  Mr.  Doobyce  should  be  drowned,  or  rabbed,  or  mur- 
dered to-night,  that  our  prayiu'  an*  trustii^  wad  cause 
Him  to  revoorse  His  foreordained  purpose?  Adely,"  she 
continued,  <<  I  dinna  mind  if  I  take  anither  egg  an'  a  trifle 
more  o'  chicken  an'  some  pickle."  >v 

By  no  means  taken  aback  by  this  pointed  inquiry,  Mr. 
Norton  replied  very  gently,  <*I  believe,  ma'am,  in  the 


i\... 


MIRAMIGED> 


13 


power  of  prayer  to  move  the  Almighty  throne,  when  it 
comes  from  a  sincere  and  humble  heart,  and  that  He  will 
bestow  His  blessing  in  return.'* 

"  Weel,"  said  Mrs.  McNab,  **  I  was  brought  up  in  the 
church  o'  Scotland,  and  dinna  beHeve  anything  anent  this 
new-light  doctrine  o'  God's  bein'  turned  roun*  an*  givin* 
up  his  decrees  an'  a'  that.  I  think  it 's  the  ward  o'  Satan," 
and  she  passed  her  cup  to  be  again  refilled  with  tea. 

Adele,  who  had  noticed  that  Mrs.  McNab's  observations 
had  suggested  new  solicitudes  to  her  mother's  mind,  re> 
marked,  <*  What  you  said  just  now.  Aunt  Patty,  is  not 
very  consoling.  Whoever  thought  that  my  father  would 
meet  with  anything  worse  than  perhaps  being  drenched  by 
the  storm,  and  half  eaten  up  with  yermin  in  the  dirty  inns 
where  he  will  have  to  lodge?  I  do  not  doubt  he  will  be 
home  in  good  time." 

"Yes,  Miss  Adely,  yes.  I  ken  it,"  said  Aunt  Patty, 
as  she  saw  a  firm,  defiant  expression  gathering  in  the 
young  girl's  countenance.  "I'd  a  dream  anent  hun  last 
night  that  makes  me  think  he's  comin." 

**  Hark  I "  said  Adele,  starting  and  speaking  in  a  clear» 
I  ringing  tone,  "he  has  come.  I  hear  his  voice  on  the 
I  lawn."  .  . 

Murmuring  a  word  or  two  of  excuse,  she  rose  instantly 
Ifroi;!^  ^^^  table,  requested  Bess,  the  servant,  to  hand  her 
I  a  lantern,  and  arrayed  herself  quickly  in  hood  and  cloak. 

As  fehe  opened  the  door,  her  father  was  standing  on  the 
[step,  in  the  driving  raia,  supporting  in  his  arms  the  form 

2 


14 


1tffTT^A'l>yj(Tiy|'. 


of  a  gentleman,  who  seemed  to  be  almost  in  a  state  of 
insensibility. 

<*  Make  way  I  make  way,  Adele.  Here's  a  4Bick  man. 
Throw  some  blankets  on  the  floor,  and  come,  all  hands, 
and  rub  him.  My  dear,  order  something  warm  for  him 
to  drink." 

Mrs.  Dubois  caught  a  pile  of  bedding  from  a  neighbor- 
ing closet  and  arranged  it  upon  the  floor,  near  the  fire. 
Mr.  Dubois  laid  the  stranger  down  upon  it.'  Mr.  Norton 
immediately  rose  from  the  tea-table,  drew  ofi*  the  boots  of 
the  fainting  man,  and  began  to  chafe  his  feet  with  his 
warm,  broad  hand.      '      ■ 

"  Put  a  dash  of  cold  water  on  his  face,  child,"  said  he 
to  Adele,  **and  he'll. come  to,  in  a  minute."  Adele 
obeyed. 

The  stranger  opened  his  eyes  suddenly  and  looked 
around  in  astonishment  upon  the  group. 

**AhI  yes.  I  see,"  he  said,  "I  have  been  faint,  or 
something  of  the  kind.     I  believe  I  am  not  quite  well." 

He  attempted  to  rise,  but  sank  back,  powerless.  He 
turned  his  bead .  slowly  towards  Mr.  Dubois,  and  said, 
*<  Friend  Dubois,  I  think  I  am  going  to  be  ill,  and  must 
trust  myself  to  yoiu:  compassion,"  when  immediately  his 
eyes  closed  and  his  countenance  assumed  the  paleness  of 
death.  ■  ^ 

"Don't  be  down-hearted,  Mr.  Brown,"  said  Mr.  Du- 
bois. "You  are  not  used  to  this  Miramichi  staging. 
You'll  be  better  by  and  by.  My  dear,  give  me  the  cor- 
dial,—  he  needs  stimulating.' 


inBAMicm. 


15 


He  took  a  cup  of  French  brandy,  mixed  with^ugar  and 
boiling  water,  from  the  hand  of  Mrs.  Dubois,  and  adminis- 
tered it  slowly  to  the  exhausted  man.  It  seemed  to  have 
a  quieting  e£fect,  and  after  awhile  Mr.  Brown  sank  into  a 
disturbed  slumber. 

Observing  this,  and  finding  that  his  limbs,  which  had 
been  cold  and  benumbed,  were  now  thoroughly  wanned, 
Mr.  Dubois  robe  from  his  kneeling  position  and  turning  to 
his  daughter,  said,  *vNow  then,  Adele,  take  the  lantern 
and  go  wi||p(me  to  the  stables.  I  must  see  for  myself  that 
the  horsed  lite  properly  cared  for.  They  are  both  tired  and 
famished." 

Adele  caught  up  the  lantern,  but  Mr.  Norton  inter- 
posed. "Allow  me,  sir,  to  assist  you,"  he  said,  rising 
quickly.  "  It  will  expose  the  young  lady  to  go  out  in  the 
storm.    Let  me  go,  sir."  ^ 

He  approached  Adele  to  take  the  lantern  from  her  hand, 
but  she  drew  back  and  held  it  fast. 

*^  don't  mind  weather,  sir,"  she  said,  with  a  little  sniff 
I  of  contempt  at  the  thought.     *  *  And  my  father  usually  pre- 
fers my  a^endance.     I  thank  you.     Will  you  please  stay 
Iwith  the  sick  gentleman?" 

Mr.  Norton  bowed,  smiled,  and  reseated  himself  near  the 
[invalid. 

In  the  mean  time,  Mr.  Dubois  and  his  daughter  went 
[through  the  rain  to  the  stables ;  his  wife  replenished  the  tea- 
|urn  and  began  to  rearrange  the  table. 

Mrs.  McNab,  during  the  scene  that  had  thus  unexpect- 
[edly  occurred,  had  been  waddling  from  one  part  of  the  room 


HV 


16 


MIRAMIOHI. 


to  the  otl&r,  exclaiming,  *<  The  Lord  be  gudc  to  us !"  Her 
presence,  however,  seemed  for  the  time  to  be  ignored. 

When  she  heard  the  gentle  movements  made  by  Mrs. 
Dubois  among  the  dishes,  her  dream  seemed  suddenly  to 
fade  out  of  view.  Seating  herself  again  at  the  tabic,  she 
diligently  pursued  the  task  of  finishing  her  supper,  yet  ever 
and  anon  examining  the  prostrate  form  upon  the  floor. 

"Peradventure  he's  a  mon  fra'  the  States.  His  claith^ 
look  pretty  nice.  As  a  gen'al  thing  them  people  fra'  the 
States  hae  plenty  o'  plack  in  their  pockets.  What  do  you 
think,  sir  ?" 

<<He  is  undoubtedly  a  gentleman  from  New  England," 
said  Mr.  Norton. 


,^-^.^^.-: 


I 


CHAPTER  n. 


MBS.  M'NAB. 


Mrs.  MoNab  was  a  native  of  Dum&ics,  Scotland,  and 
had  made  her  advent  in  the  ^vliramichi  country  about  five 
years  previous  to  t^ie  occurrences  just  mentioned. 

Having  buried  her  husband,  mother,  and  two  children, — 
hoping  that  change  of  scene  might  lighten  the  weight  upon 
her  spirits,  she  had  concluded  to  emigrate  with  some  in- 
timate acquaintances  to  the  Province  of  New  Brunswick. 

On  first  reaching  the  settlement,  she  had  spent  several 
weeks  at  the  Dubois  House,  where  she  set  immediately  at 
work  to  prove  her  accomplishments,  by  assisting  in  mak- 
ing up  dresses  for  Mrs.  Dubois  and  Adele. 

She  entertained  them  with  accounts  of  her  former  life  in 
Scotland, — talkin^largely  about  her  acquaintance  with  the 
family  of  Lord  Lindsay,  in  which  she  had  served  in  the  ca- 
pacity of  nurse.  She  described  the  castle  in  which  they 
resided,  the  furniture,  the  servants,  and  the  grand  company ; 
and,  more  than  all,  she  knew  or  pretended  to  know  the  tra- 
ditions, legends,  and  ghost  stories  connected,  for  many  gen- 
erations past,  with  the  Lindsay  race.     -       ^ 

She  talked  untiringly  of  these  matters  to  the  neighbors, 
2« 


«■ 


■tJ-:- 


18 


MmAMTcm. 


exciting  their  interest  and  wonder  by  the  new  phases  of  life 
presented,  and  furnishing  food  for  the  superstitious  tenden- 
cies always  rife  in  new  and  ignorant  settlements.  In  short, 
by  these  means,  she  won  her  way  gradually  in  the  commu- 
nity, until  she  came  to  be  the  general  factotum. 

It  was  noticed,  indeed,  that  in  the  annual  round  of  her  vis- 
its from  house  to  house,  Mrs.  McNab  had  a  peculiar  faculty 
~^.l  securing  to  herself  the  various  material  comforts  available, 
having  ifitt^excellent  appetite  and  a  genius  for  appropriating 
the  warmest  seat  at  the  fireplace  and  any  other  little  luxury 
a-going.  These  things  were,  however,  overlooked,  espe- 
cially by  the  women  of  the  region,  on  account  cf  her  social 
qualities,  she  being  an  invaluable  companion  during  the 
long  days  and  evenings  when  their  husbands  and  sons  were 
away,  engaged  in  lumbering  or  fisliing.  When  the  family 
with  which  she  happened,  to  be  sojourning  were  engaged 
in  domestic  occupations,  IVIrs.  McNab,  established  in  some 
cosey  comer,  told  her  old  wife  stories  and  whiled  away  the 
long  and  dismal  wintry  hours. 

Of  all  the  people  among  whom  she  moved,  Adele  Dubois 
least  exercised  the  grace  of  patience  toward  her. 

On  the  return  of  Mr.  Dubois  and  ^is  daughter  to  the 
house,  after  having  seen  the  horses  safely  stowed  away,  he 
refreshed  himself  at  the  tea-table  and  left  the  room  ta  at- 
tend to  necessary  business.  Mrs.  Dubois  and  Mrs.  Mc- 
Nab went  to  fit  up  an  apartment  for  the  stranger. 
t  In  the  mean  time  Mr.  Norton  and  Adele  were  left  with 
the  invalid.  .■  .'■-      ..,"*),:.    ■.  '.;■,,.    .■ -^.- v.,>^?.r;  ■; 

Mr.  Brown's  face  had  lost  its  pallid  hue  and  was  now 


■r 


MIRAMICHI. 


19 


orenpread  with  the  fiery  glow  of  fever.  H9  grew  more 
and  more  restless  in  his  sleep,  until  at  length  he  opened  his 
eyes  wide  and  began  to  talk  deliriously.  At  the  first  sound 
of  his  yoice,  Adele  started  from  her  seat,  expecting  to  hear 
some  request  from  his  lips.  •  • 

Gazing  at  her  wildly  for  a  moment,  he  exclaimed, 
**  What,  you  here,  Agnes  I  you,  trayeUing  in  this  horrible 
wilderness  1  Where's  your  husband?  Where's  John,  the 
brave  boy?  Don't  bring  them  here  to  taunt  me.  Go 
away  I    Don't  look  at  me  1  '* 

With  an  expression  of  terror  on  his  countenance,  he  sank 
back  upon  the  pillow  and  closed  his  eyes.  Mr.  Norton 
knelt  down  by  the  couch  and  made  slow,  soothing  motions 
with  his  hand  upon  the  hot  and  fevered  head,  until  the 
sick  man  sank  again  into  slumber.  Seeing  this,  Adele, 
who  had  been  standing  in  mute  bewilderment,  came  sofdy 
near  and  whispered,  * '  He  has  been  doing  aomething  wrong, 
has  he  not,  sir  ?  " 

**  I  hope  not,"  said  the  good  man,  <<  He  is  not  himself 
now,  and  is  not  aware  what  he  is  saying.  His  fever 
causes  his  mind  to  wander."  ^  . 

"Yes,  sir.  But  I  think  he  is  unhappy  beside  being 
sick.     That  sigh  was  so  sorrowful  I "  ^ 

*'  It  was  sad  enough,"  said  Mr.  Norton.  After  a  pause, 
he  continued,  "  I  will  stay  by  his  bed  and  take  care  of  him 
to-night." 

«« Ah  1  will  you,  sir  ?  "  said  Adele.  *  *  That  is  kind,  but 
Aujjt  Patty,  I  know,  will  insist  on  taking  charge  of  him. 
She  thinks  it  her  right  to  take  care  of  all  the  sick  people. 


so 


MIRAMIOHI. 


But  I  don't  T^h  her  to  stay  with  this  gentleman  to-night. 
If  he  talks  again  as  he  did  just  now,  she  will  tell  it  all  over 
the  neighborhood.''  i^ 

At  that  moment,  the  door  opened,  and  Mrs.  McNab 
came  waddling  in,  followed  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Dubois. 

**  Now,  Mr.  Doobyce,"  said  she,  **  if  you  and  this  pus- 
son  will  just  carry  the  patient  up  stairs,  and  place  him  on 
the  bed,  that's  a'  ye  need  do.     I'll  tak'  care  o'  him." 

**  Permit  me  the  privilege  of  watching  by  the  gentleman's 
bed  to-night,"  said  Mr.  Norton,  turning  to  Mr.  Dubois. 

**  By  no  means,  sir,"  said  his  host ;  **  you  have  had  a 
long  ride  through  the  forest  to-day  and  must  be  tired. 
Aunt  Patty  here  prefers  to  tak^  charge  of  him."  '<■ 

"  Sir,"  said  Mr.  Norton,  "  I  observed  awhile  ago,  that 
his  mind  was  quite  wandering.  He  is  greatly  excited  by 
fever,  but  I  succeeded  in  quieting  him  oiSe  and  perhaps 
may  be  able  to  do  so  again. " 

Here  Mrs.  McNab  interposed  in  tones  somewhat  loud 
and  irate. 

**  That's  the  way  pussons  fra'  your  country  always  talk. 
They  think  they  can  do  everytliing  better'n  anybody  else. 
What  can  a  mon  do  at  nussin',  I  wad  ken  ?  " 

**  Mr.  Norton  will  nurse  him  well,  I  know.  Let  him 
take  care  of  the  gentleman,  father,"  said  Adele. 

"  Hush,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Dubois,  decidedly,  **  it  is 
proper  that  Mrs.  McNab  take  charge  of  Mr.  Brown  to- 
night."   •  .  <-^v^  f^^m^' 

Adele  made  no  reply,  and  only  showed  her  vexation 
by  casting  a  defiant  look  on  the  redoubtable  aunt  Patty, 


:*♦ 


.      V 


MIBAMICHI. 


SI 


whose  face  waa  overspread  with  a  grin  of  satisfaction  at 
having  carried  her  point. 

Mr^Norton,  of  course,  did  not  press  his  proposal  farther, 
but  consoled  himself  with  the  thought,  that  some  future 
opportunity  might  occur,  enabling  him  to  fulfil  his  benevo- 
lent intentions. 

A  quieting  powder  was  administered  and  Mrs.  McNab 
established  herself  beside  the  fire  that  had  been  kindled  in 
Mr.  JBrown's  apartment. 

After  having  indicated  to  Mr.  Norton  the  bedroom  he 
was  to  occupy  for  the  night,  the  family  retired,  leaving  him 
the  only  inmate  of  the  room. 

As  he  sat  and  watched  the  dying  embers,  he  fell  into  a 
reverie  concerning  the  events  of  the  evening.  His  musings 
were  of  a  somewhat  perplexed  nature.  He  was  at  a  loss  to 
account  for  the  appearance  of  a  gentleman,  bearing  unmis^ 
takable  marks  of  refinement  and  wealth,  as  did  Mr.  Brown, 
under  such  circumstances,  and  in  such  a  region  as  Mira- 
michi.  The  words  he  had  uttered  in  his  delirium,  added 
to  the  mystery.  He  was  also  puzzled  about  the  family  of 
Dubois.  How  came  people  of  such  culture  and  superiority 
in  this  dark  portion  of  the  earth?  How  strange,  that  they 
had  lived  here  so  many  years,  without  assimilating  to  the 
common  herd  around  them.  ?• 

Thus  his  mind,  excited  by  what  had  recently  occurred, 

[wandered  on,  imtil  at  length  his  thoughts  fell  into  their 

accustomed  channel,  —  dwelling  on  his  own  mission  to  this 

[benighted  land,  and  framing  various  schemes  by  which  he 

light  accomplish  the  object  so  dear  to  his  heart. 


MIRAMIOm. 


In  the  mean  time,  having  turned  his  face  partiallj  aside 
from  the  fire,  he  was  watching  unconsciously  the  fitful 
gleaming  of  a  light  cast  on  the  opposito  wall  bj  the  occf^ 
sional  fiaring  up  of  a  tongue  of  fiame  from  the  dying 
embers. 

Suddenly  he  heard  a  deep,  whirring  sound  as  if  the 
springs  of  some  complicated  machinery  had  just  then  be  a 
set  in  motion. 

Looking  around  to  find  whence  the  noise  procecI<)d  ^e 
was  rather  startled  on  observing  in  the  waJ,  r.  /  <  e  comer, 
just  under  the  ceiling,  a  tiny  door  fly  OT)en,  and  emerping 
thence  a  grotesque,  miniature  man,  holding,  uplifted  in  his 
hand,  a  hammer  of  size  proportionate  to  his  own  figure. 
Mr.  Norton  sat  motionless,  while  this  small  specimen  pro- 
ceeded, with  a  jerky  gait  and  many  bobbing  grimaces, 
across  a  wire  stretched  to  the  opposite  comer  of  the  room, 
where  stoou  a  tall,  ebony  clock.  When  within  a  short 
distance;  of  t?ie  clock  another  tiny  door  in  its  side  flew 
open ;  the  little  man  entered  and  struck  deliberately  with 
the  hammer  the  hour  of  midnight.  Near  the  top  of  the 
dial-plate  was  seen  from  without  the  regular  uplifting  of  the 
little  arm,  applying  its  stroke  to  the  bell  within.  Having 
performed  his  duty,  this  personage  jerked  out  of  the  clock, 
the  tiny  door  closing  behind  Wm^  bobbed  and  jerked  along 
the  wire  as  before,  and  disaTieijv^^  at  the  dc  ^  •  'n  the  wall, 
which  also  immediately  clod;.^!  oiter  his  exit. 

Having  witnessed  the  whole  manoeuvre  with  comic  won- 
der and  curiosity,  Mr.  Norton  burst  into  a  loud  and  hearty 
peal  of  laughter,  that  was  still  resounding  in  the  room  when 


HIRAMICHI. 


88 


he  became  suddenly  aware  of  the  preaence  of  Mr«.  MoNal>. 
There  fihc  st^Kxl  in  the  centre  of  the  apartment  her  fir»i, 
square  figni  '  appanutJy  rooted  to  the  fl«>or,  her  he»id  envel- 
oped in  innumerablo  folds  ot  wliitc  cotton,  a  tower  u( 
strength  and  defiance. 

Her  unexpected  appearance  changed  in  »  moment  the 
mood  of  the  good  man,  and  he  inquired  anxiously,  *<  Is  the 
gentleman  more  ill  ?     Can  I  assist  you  ?  " 

'*  He's  just  this  rainnut  closed  his  eyes  to  sleep,  and  na^ 
I  expect  he's  wide  awake  again,  with  the  dreadfu'  ra«  k<'t 
you  were  just  a  makin*.  O  I  my  I  wadna  you  hae  mauo  a 
[  good  nuss  ? "        ,  ^ 

Mr.  Norton  truly  grieved  at  his  inad  ertency  in  disturb- 
ling  the  household  at  this  late  hour  ot  the  night,  begged 
pardon,  and  told  Mrs.  McNab  he  would  not  be  guilty  of  a 
[like  of!ence.  ;        '  -  c:.  .  , 

*♦  How  has  the  gentleman  been  during  the  evening?"  lie 
[asked.  .     r 

"  O  I  he's  been  ravin'  crazy  a'maist,  and  (/bstacled  every- 

[thing  I've  done  for  him.     He's  a  very  sick  ][.u8Son  naw.     I 

3am'  down  to  get  a  bottle  of  muddeson,"  and  Mrs.  McNab 

rent  to  a  closet  and  took  from  it  the  identical  bottle  of 

jrandy  from  which  Mrs.  Dubois  had  poured  vvhen  prepar- 

ig  the  stimulating  dose  for  the  invalid.      Mr.   Norton 

)b8erved  this  performance  with  a  twinkle  of  ihe  eye,  but 

ig  no  comment,  the  worthy  woman  retired  from  the 

)om.  • 

That  night  Mr.  Norton  slept  indifferently,  being  dis- 
rbed  by  exciting  and  bewildering  dreams.     In  his  slum- 


*  1 


24 


MIRAMICTHI. 


bers  he  saw  an  immense  cathedral,  lighted  only  by  wliat 
Beemed  some  great  conflagration  without,  which,  glaring  m, 
with  horrid,  crimson  hue  upon  the  pictured  walls,  gave  the 
place  the  strange,  lurid  aspect  of  Pandemonium.  The 
effect  was  heightened  by  the  appearance  of  thousands  of 
small,  grotesque  beings,  all  bearing  more  or  less  resem- 
blance to  the  little  man  of  the  clock,  who  were  flying  and 
bobbing,  jerking  and  grinning  through  the  air,  beneath  the 
great  vault,  as  if  madly  revelling  in  the  scene.  Yet  the 
good  man  all  the  while  had  a  vague  sense  of  some  awful, 
impending  calamity,  which  increased  as  he  wandered 
around  in  great  perplexity,  exploring  the  countenances  of 
the  various  groups  scattered  over  the  place. 

Once  he  stumbled  over  a  dead  body  and  found  it  the 
corpse  of  the  invalid  in  the  room  above.  He  seemed  to 
himself  to  be  lifting  it  carefully,  when  a  lady,  fair  and 
stately,  in  rich,  sweeping  garments,  took  the  burden  from 
his  arms,  and,  sinking  with  it  on  the  floor,  kissed  it  tenderly 
and  then  bent  over  it  with  a  look  of  iatense  sorrow. 

Farther  on  he  saw  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Dubois,  with  Ad^le, 
kneeling  imploringly,  with  terror-stricken  faces,  before  a 
representation  of  the  Virgin  Mary  and  h^  divine  boy. 
Then  the  glare  of  light  in  the  building  increased.  Bush- 
ing to  the  entrance  to  look  for  the  cause  of  it,  he  there  met 
Mrs.  McNab  coming  towards  him  with  a  wild,  disordered 
countenance,  —  her  white  cotton  head-gear  floating  out  like 
a  banner  to  the  breeze,  —  shaking  a  brandy  bottle  in  the 
faces  of  all  she  met.  He  gained  the  door  and  found  himself 
enwrapped  in  a  sheet  of  flame. 


# 


MTRAMTCHI. 


25 


Suddenly  the  whole  scene  passed.  He  woke.  A  glori- 
ous September  sun  was  irradiating  the  walls  of  his  bed- 
room. He  heard  the  movements  of  the  family  below,  and 
rose  hastily. 

A  few  moments  of  thought  and  prayer  sufficed  to  clear 
lus  healthy  brain  of  the  fantastic  forms  and  scenes  which 
had  invaded  it,  and  he  was  himself  again,  ready  and  pant- 
ing for  service. 


■jr'-'j 


?■ 


I 


i:    I 


CHAPTER  m. 


MR.    NORTON. 


In  ortler  to  bring  Mr.  Norton  more  distinctly  before  the 
reader,  it  is  necessary  to  give  a  few  particulars  of  his  pre- 
vious life. 

He  was  the  son  of  a  New  England  farmer.  His  father 
had  given  him  a  good  moral  and  religious  training  and  the 
usual  common  school  education,  but,  being  poor  and  having 
a  large  family  to  provide  for,  he  had  turned  him  adrift  upon 
the  sea  of  life,  to  shape  his  own  course  and  win  his  own  for- 
tunes.  These,  in  some  respects,  he  was  well  calculated  to  do. 

He  possessed  a  frame  hardened  by  labor,  and,  to  a  native 
shrewdness  and  self  reliance,  added  traits  which  threw  light 
and  warmth  into  his  character.  EQs  sympathies  were  easUy 
roused  by  suffering  and  want.  He  spumed  everything  mean 
and  ungenerous, — was  genial  in  disposition,  indeed  brim- 
ming withmirthfulness,  and,  in  every  situation,  attracted  to 
himself  numerous  friends.  He  was,  moreover,  an  excellent 
blacksmith. 

After  leaving  his  father's  roof,  for  a  half  score  of  years, 
he  was  led  into  scenes  of  temptation  and  danger.  But,  hav- 
ing passed  through  various  fortunes,  the  whispers  of  the 


MIBAMICHI. 


27 


internal  monitor,  and  the  voice  of  a  loving  ■mfe,  drew  lum 
into  better  and  safer  patlis.  He  betook  himself  unremit- 
tingly to  the  duties  of  his  occupation. 

By  the  influence  of  early  parental  training,  and  the  teach- 
ings of  the  Heavenly  Spirit,  he  was  led  into  a  religious  life. 
He  dedicated  himself  unreservedly  to  Christ.  This  intro- 
duced him  into  a  new  sphere  of  effort,  one,  in  which  his  nat- 
urally expansive  nature  found  free  scope.  He  became  an 
active,  devoted,  joyous  follower  of  the  Great  Master,  and, 
thenceforward,  desired  nothing  so  much  as  to  labor  in  his 
service. 

About  a  year  after  this  important  change,  a  circumstance 
occurred  which  altered  the  course  of  his  outward  life. 

It  happened  that  a  stranger  came  to  pass  a  night  at  his 
house.  During  the  conversation  of  a  lon^  winter  evening, 
his  curiosity  became  greatly  excited,  in  an  account,  given 
by  his  guest,  of  the  Miramichi  region.  He  was  astonished 
at  the  moral  darkness  reigning  there.  The  place  was  dis- 
tant, and,  at  that  time,  almost  inaccessible  to  any,  save  the 
strong  and  hardy.  But  the  light  of  life  ought  to  be  thrown 
into  that  darkness.  Who  should  go  as  a  torch-bearer? 
The  inquiry  had  scarcely  risen  in  his  breast,  before  he 
thought  he  heard  the  words  spoken  almost  audibly,  Thou 


must  go. 


Here,  a  peculiarity  of  the  good  blacksmith  must  be  ex- 
plained. Possessed  of  great  practical  wisdom  and  saga- 
city, he  was  yet  easily  affected  by  preternatural  influences. 
He  was  subject  to  very  strong  "  impressions  of  mind,"  as 
he  called  them,  by  which  he  was   urged  to  pursue  one 


S8 


MIBAMIOHI. 


: 


course  of  conduct  instead  of  another ;  to  follow  out  one 
plan  of  business  in  preference  to  another,  even  when  there 
seemed  to  be  no  apparent  reason,  why  the  one  course  was 
better  than  its  alternative.  He  had  sometimes  obeyed  these 
impressions,  sometimes  had  not.  But  he  thought  he  had 
found,  In  the  end,  that  he  should  have  invariably  followed 
them.  ''■'-         J' 

A  particular  instance  confirmed  him  in  this  belief.  One 
day,  being  in  New  York,  he  was  extremely  anxious  to 
complete  his  business  in  order  to  take  passage  home  in  a 
sloop,  announced  to  leave  port  at  a  certaui  hour  in  the 
afternoon.  Resolving  to  be  on  board  the  vessel  at  the  time 
appointed,  he  hurried  from  place  to  place,  from  street  to 
street,  in  the  accomplishment  of  his  plan.  But  he  was 
strangely  hindered  in  his  arrangements  and  haunted  by  an 
impression  of  trouble  connected  vdth.  the  vessel.  Having, 
however,  left  his  wife  ill  at  home,  and  being  still  determined 
to  go,  he  pressed  on.  It  happened  that  he  arrived  at  the 
wharf  just  as  the  sloop  had  got  beyond  the  possibility  of 
reaching  her,  and  he  turned  away  bitterly  disappointed.  The 
night  that  followed  was  one  of  darkness  and  horror ;  the 
sloop  caught  fire  and  all  on  board  perished.  ^  ' ' 

He  had  now  received  an  impression  "^hat  it  was  his  duty 
to  go,  as  an  ambassador  of  Christ,  to  Miramichi. 

Having  for  sometime  previous  *<  exercised  his  gift  "  with 
acceptance  at  various  social  religious  meetings,  he  applied 
to  the  authorities  of  his  religious  denomination  for  license 
to  preach. 

After  passing  a  creditable  examination  on  points  deemed 


MIBA^IOm. 


29 


essential  in  the  case,  he  obtained  a  commission  and  a  cor- 
dial God  speed  from  his  brethren.  They  augured  well  for 
hl»  success. 

To  be  sure,  the  deficiencies  of  his  early  education  some- 
times made  themselves  manifest,  notwithstanding  the  diligent 
efforts  he  had  put  forth,  of  late  years,  to  remedy  the  lack. 
But  on  the  other  hand,  he  had  knowledge  of  human  nature, 
sagacity  in  adapting  means  to  ends,  a  wide  tolerance  of 
those  unfortunate  ones,  involved  by  whatever  ways  in 
guilt,  deep  and  earnest  piety,  and  a  remarkable  natural 
eloquence,  both  winning  and  forcible. 

So  he  had  started  on  his  long  journey  through  the  wilder- 
ness, and  here,  at  last,  he  is  found,  on  the  banks  of  the 
Miramichi,  cheerful  and  active,  engaged  in  his  great  work. 

The  reader  was  informed,  at  the  close  of  the  last  chap- 
ter, that  after  the  perplexing  visions  of  the  night,  by  the 
use  of  charms  of  which  he  well  knew  the  power,  Mr. 
Norton  had  cleared  his  brain  of  the  unpleasant  phantoms 
that  had  invaded  it  during  his  slumbers.  Being  quick  and 
forgetive  in  bis  mental  operations,  even  while  completing 
his  toilet,  he  had  formed  a  plan  for  an  attack  upon  the 
kingdom  of  darkness  lying  around  him.  ,(.     ,-, 

As  he  entered  the  room,  the  scene  of  his  last  night's  ad- 
venture, his  face  beaming  with  cheerfulness  and  coiurage, 
Adele,  who  was  just  then  la3dng  the  table,  thought  his  ap- 
pearance there  like  another  sunrise.  # 

After  the  morning  salutations  were  over,  he  looked 
around  the  apartment,  observing  it,  in  its  daylight  aspect, 
with  a  somewhat  puzzled  air.  In  eome  respects,  it  was 
3* 


u 


I 


; 


^ 


30 


MIBAMiqpi. 


entirely  unlike  what  he  had  seen  before.  The  broad  stone 
hearth,  with  its  large  blazing  fire,  the  Dutch  oven,  the 
air  of  neatness  and  tlirift,  were  like  those  of  a  New  Eng- 
land kitchen,  but  here  the  resemblance  ceased. 

A  paper-hanging,  whose  originally  rich  hues  had  be- 
come in  a  measure  dimmed,  covered  the  walls ;  and  cu- 
rious old  pictures  hung  around;  the  chairs  and  tables 
were  of  heavy  dark  wood,  elaborately  and  grotesquely  car- 
ved, as  was  also  the  ebony  clock  in  the  corner,  whose  won- 
derful mechanism  had  so  astonished  him  on  the  previous 
evening.  A  low  lounge,  covered  with  a  crimson  material, 
•occupied  a  remote  corner  of  the  room,  with  a  Turkish  mat 
spread  on  the  floor  before  it.  At  the  head  of  the  couch 
was  a  case,  curiously  carved,  filled  with  books,  and  be- 
neath, in  a  little  niche  in  the  wall,  a  yellow  ivory  crucifix. 

It  did  not  occur  to  the  good  man  to  make  any  compari- 
son between  this  room  with  its  peculiar  adornings,  and  the 
Puritan  kitchen  with  its  stiff,  stark  furniture.  One  of  the 
latter  description  was  found  in  his  own  home,  and  the  place 
where  his  loved  ones  lived  and  moved,  was  to  him  invested 
with  a  beauty  altogether  independent  of  outward  form  and 
show.  But,  as  he  looked  around  with  an  air  of  satisfac- 
tion, this  room  evidently  pleased  his  eye,  and  he  paid  an 
involuntary  tribute  to  its  historic  suggestiveness,  by  falling 
into  a  reverie  concerning  the  life  and  times  of  the  good  Ro- 
man Catholic  Fenelon,  whose  memoir  and  writings  he  had 
read. 

Soon  Adele  called  him  lo  the  breakfast-table.  ^ 

« 

;i  Mrs.  McNab  not  having  made  her  appearance,  he  in- 


%■ 


MIltAMICm. 


di 


qiiired  if  any  tidings  had  been  heard  from  the  fiick-room. 
Mrs.  Dubois  replied,  that  she  had  listened  at  the  door  and 
hearing  no  sound,  concluded  Mr.  BroAvn  was  quiet  under 
the  influence  of  the  sleeping  powder,  and  consequently,  she 
did  not  run  the  risk  of  disturbing  him  by  going  in. 

"  Should  Aunt  Patty  happen  to  begin  snoring  in  her 
chair,  as  she  often  does,"  said  Adele,  "  Mr.  Brown  would 
be  obliged  to  wake  up.  I  defy  any  one  to  sleep  when 
she  gets  into  one  of  those  fits." 

"Adele,"  said  her  father,  while  a  smile  played  round  his 
mouth  and  twinkled  in  his  usually  grave  eyes,  **  can't  you 
let  IVIrs.  McNab  have  any  peace  ?  " 

*'  Is  Mr.  Brown  a  friend  of  yours  ?"  inquired  Mr.  Norton 
of  his  host. 

*'  I  met  him  for  the  first  time  at  Fredericton.  He  was  at 
the  hotel  when  I  arrived  there.  \Ye  accidentally  fell  into 
conversation  one  evening.  He  made,  then  and  subsequent- 
ly, many  inquiries  about  this  region,  and  when  I  was  ready 
to  start  for  home,  said  that,  with  my  permission,  he  would 
travel  with  me.  I  fancy,"  Mr.  Dubois  added,  "he  was 
somewhat  ill  when  we  left,  but  he  did  not  speak  of  it. 
We  had  a  rough  journey  and  I  tliink  the  exposure  to 
which  he  was  subjected  has  increased  his  sickness.  If  he 
proves  to  be  no  better  to-day,  I  shall  send  Micah  for  Dr. 
Wright,"  said  he,  turning  to  his  wife.  "I  hope  you  will, 
father,"  said  Adele,  speaking  very  decidedly.  *'  I  should 
be  sorry  to  have  him  consigned  over  wholly  to  the  tender 
mercies  of  IVIrs.  McNab." 

**Mr.  Dubois,"  said  the  missionary,  laying  down  his 


\  V 


32 


MIBAMICHI. 


ili 


i 


knife  and  fork,  suddenly,  **  I  must  confess,  I  am  perfectlj 
surprised  to  find  such  a  family  as  yours  in  this  place.  From 
previous  report,  and  indeed  from  my  own  observation  in 
reaching  here,  I  had  received  the  idea,  that  the  inhabi- 
tants were  not  only  a  wicked,  but  a  very  rude  and  un- 
couth set  of  people." 

"Whatever  may  be  your  opinion  of  ourselves,  sir," 
replied  his  host,  ^<  you  are  not  far  amiss  in  regard  to  the 
character  of  the  people.     They  are,  in  general,  a  rough  set." 

**Well,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Norton,  "as  an  honest  man,  I 
must  inform  you,  that  I  came  here  with  a  purpose  in  view. 
I  have  a  message  to  tliis  people,  —  a  message  of  love  and 
mercy ;  and  I  trust  it  will  not  be  displeasing  to  you,  if  I 
promulgate  it  in  this  neighborhood." 

**  I  do  not  understand  your  meaning," said  Mr.  Dubois. 

**  I  wish,  sir,  to  teach  these  people,  some  of  the  truths  of 
morality  and  religion  such  as  are  found  in  the  Bible.  I 
have  ventured  to  guess  that  you  and  your  family  are  of  the 
Roman  Catholic  faith."  ■ 

"  We  belong  to  the  commimion  of  that  church,  sir." 

**  That  being  the  case,  and  thinking  you  may  have  some 
interest  in  this  matter,  I  would  say,  that  I  wish  to  make  an 
attempt  to  teach  the  knowledge  of  divine  things  to  this 
people,  hoping  thereby  to  raise  them  from  their  present 
state  to  something  better  and  holier." 

"A  worthy  object,  sir,  but  altogether  a  hopeless  one. 
You  have  no  idea  of  the  condition  of  the  settlers  here. 
You  cannot  get  a  hearing.  They  scoff  at  such  tblfigs 
utterly,"  said  Mr.  Dubois. 


'Matitk- 


MIRAMIOm. 


33 


**  Is  there  any  objection  in  your  own  'nd  against  an 
endeavor  to  enlist  their  interest?"    asked  Mr.  Norton. 

«'  Not  the  least,"  said  Mr.  Dubois. 

*'  Then  I  will  try  to  collect  the  people  together  and  tell 
them  my  views  and  wishes.  Is  there  any  man  here  hav- 
ing influence  with  this  class  ^  who  would  be  willing  to  aid 
me  in  this  movement  ?  " 

Mr.  Dubois  meditated.  •      *  v 

*  *  I  do  not  know  of  one,  sir,"  he  said.  *  *  They  all  drink, 
swear,  gamble,  and  profane  holy  things,  and  seem  to  have 
no  "respect  for  either  God  or  man." 

*'  It  is  too  true,"  remarked  Mrs.  Dubois. 

<*  Now,  father,"  said  Adele,  assuming  an  air  of  wisdom, 
that  sat  rather  comically  on  her  youthful  brow,  **  J  think 
Micah  Mummychog  would  be  just  the  person  to  help  this 
gentleman." 

**  Micah  Mummychog !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Norton,  throw- 
ing himself,  back  in  his  chair  and  shaking  out  of  his  lungs 
a  huge,  involuntary  haw,  haw,  "where  does  the  person 
you  speak  of  hail  from  to  own  such  a  name  as  that^  my 
dearchUd?"  .   -^ 

<  *  I  rather  think  he  came  from  Yankee  land,  —  from  your 
part  of  the  country,  sir,"  said  Adele,  mischievously. 

"Ah,  well,"  said  Mr.  Norton,  with  another  peal  of 
[laughter,  **  we  <?o  have  ^ome  curious  names  in  our  parts." 

"  Micah  Mummychog  I "  exclaimed  Mr.  Dubois,  <<  what 
[are  you  thinking  of,  Adele?  Why,  the  fellow  drinks  and 
[swears  as  hard  as  the  rest  of  them." 

**  Not  quite,"  persisted  the  child,  "and  besides,  he  haa  '^ 
|8ome  good  about  him,  I  know." 


M 


84 


MIBAMIOHI. 


*<  What  have  you  seen  good  about  him,  pray?**  said  her 
father. 

**  Why,  you  remember  that  when  I  discovered  the  Kttle 
girl  floating  down  the  river,  Micah  took  his  boat  and  went 
out  to  bring  her  ashore.  Ho  took  the  body,  dripping,  in 
his  arms,  carried  it  to  his  house,  and  laid  it  down  as  ten- 
derly as  if  it  had  been  his  own  sister.  He  asked  me  to 
please  go  and  get  Mrs.  McNab  to  come  and  prepare  it  for 
burial.  The  little  thing,  he  said,  was  entirely  dead  and 
gone  I  I  started  to  go,  as  he  wished',  but  happened  to 
think  I  would  just  step  back  and  look  at  the  sweet  fttce 
once  more.  When  I  opened  the  door,  Micah  was  bending 
over  it,  with  his  eyes  full  of  tears.  When  I  asked,  what 
is  the  matter,  Micah  ?  he  said  he  was  thinking  of  a  little 
sister  of  his  that  was  drowned  just  so  in  the  Kennebec 
River,  many  years  ago." 

"That  showed  some  fueling,  certainly,"  said  Mrs.  Du- 
bois. .  • 

"  Then,  too,  I  know,"  continued  Adelc,  **  that  the  peo- 
ple here  like  him.  If  any  one  can  get  them  together, 
Micah  can." 

**  Well  I "  said  Mr.  Dubois  looking  at  his  child  with  a 
fond  pride,  yet  as  if  doubting  whether  she  were  not  already 
half  spoiled,  * '  it  seems  you  are  the  wiseacre  of  the  family.  I 
know  Micah  has  always  been  a  favorite  of  yours.  Pei'iapa 
the  gentleman  will  give  your  views  some  consideration." 

"Father,"  replied  Adele,  "I  have  only  said  what  I 
think  about  it."  '      . 

"  I'll  try  what  I  can  do  with  Micah  Mummychog,"  said 
Mr.  Norton  decidedly,  and  the  conversation  ended. 


CHAPTEIl  lY. 


anCAII  MUMMYCIIOO. 


About  ten  years  before  the  period  when  this  narrative 
[begins,  Micah  Mummychog  had  come  to  this  country  from 
[the  Kennebec  River,  in  the  State  of  Maine. 

He  soon  purchased  a  dozen  acres  of  land,  partially 
jleared  them,  and  built  a  large-sized,  comfortable  log 
louse.     It  was  situated  not  far  from  the  Dubois  house,  at 

short  distance  from  the  bank  of  the  river,  and  on  the 
sdge  of  a  grove  of  forest  trees. 

Micah  inhabited  his  house  usually  only  a  few  months 
luring  the  year,  as  he  was  a  cordial  lover  of  the  unbroken 
dlderness,  and  was  as  migratory  in  his  habits  as  the  native- 
ndian.  On  the  morning  after  the  events  related  in  the 
ist  chapter,  he  happened  to  be  at  home.  While  Adele 
ras  guiding  the  missionary  to  his  cottage,  he  was  sitting 

his  kitchen,  which  also  served  for  a  general  reception 
)om,  burnishing  up  an  old  Dutch  fowling-piece. 

The  apartment  was  furnished  with  cooking  utensils,  and 
)arse  wooden  furniture ;  the  walls  hung  around  with  fishing 

ckle,  moose-horns,  skins  of  wild  animals  and  a  variety  of 
rearms. 


SB 


MQtAMIOHX. 


Micah  was  no  common,  stupid,  bumpkin-looking  person. 
Belonging  to  tho  genus  Yankee,  he  had  yet  a  few  peculiar 
traits  of  his  own.  Pie  had  a  smallish,  bullet-shaped  head, 
set,  with  dignified  poise,  on  a  pair  of  wide,  flat  shoulders. 
His  chest  was  broad  and  swelling,  his  limbs  straight,  mus- 
cular, and  strong.  His  eyes  were  large,  round,  and  blue. 
When  his  mind  was  in  a  state  of  repose  and  his  counten-. 
ance  alrrest,  they  had  a  solemn,  owl-like  expression.  But 
when  in  an  excited,  observant  mood,  they  were  keen  and 
searching ;  and  human  orbs  surely  never  expressed  more 
rollicking  fun  than  did  his,  in  his  hours  of  recreation.  He 
had  a  habit  of  darting  them  around  a  wide  circle  of  objects, 
without  turning  his  head  a  hairsbreadth.  This,  together 
with  another  peculiarity  of  turning  his  head,  occasionally, 
at  a  sharp  angle,  with  the  quick  and  sudden  motion  of  a 
cat,  probably  was  acquired  in  his  hunting  life. 

Micah  had  never  taken  to  himself  a  helpmate,  and  as  far 
as  mere  housekeeping  was  concerned,  one  would  judge,  on 
looking  around  the  decent,  tidy  apartment  in  which  he  sat 
and  of  which  he  had  the  sole  care,  that  he  did  not  particularly 
need  one.  He  washed,  scoured,  baked,  brewed,  swept  and 
dusted  as  deftly  as  any  woman,  and  did  it  all  as  a  matter  of 
course.  These  were,  however,  only  his  minor  accomplish- 
ments. He  commanded  the  Jiighest  wages  in  the  lumber 
camp,  was  the  best  fisherman  to  be  found  in  the  region,  and 
had  the  good  luck  of  always  bringing  down  any  game  he 
had  set  his  heart  upon. 

Micah  had  faults,  but  let  these  pass  for  the  present. 
There  was  one  achievement  of  his,  worthy  of  aU  praise. 


MXSAMICBI. 


37 


It  waa  remarked,  that  the  loggery  was  eituated  on  the 
edge  of  a  grove.  Thia  grove,  when  Mieah  came,  waa  **a 
piece  of  woods,"  of  the  densest  and  most  tangled  sort. 
V'f  his  strong  arm,  it  had  been  transformed  into  a  scene  of 
exceeding  beauty.  He  had  cut  away  the  under  growth  and 
smaller  trees,  leaving  the  taller  sons  of  the  forest  still  rising 
loftily  and  waving  their  banners  toward  heaven.  It  formed 
a  magnificent  natural  temple,  and  as  the  sun  struck  in 
through  the  long,  brood  aibies,  soft  and  rich  were  the  lights 
and  shadows  that  flickered  over  the  green  floor.  The  lofty 
arches,  formed  by  the  meeting  and  interlaced  branches 
above,  were  often  resonant  with  music.  During  the  spring 
and  summer  months,  matin  worship  was  constantly  per- 
formed by  a  multitudinous  choir,  and  praises  were  chanted 
by  tiny-throated  warblers,  raising  their  notes  upon  the  deep, 
organ  base,  rolled  into  the  harmony  by  the  grand  old  pines. 

It  is  true,  that  hardly  a  human  soul  worshipped  here, 
but  when  the  "Te  Deum"  rose  toward  heaven,  thousands 
of  blue,  pink,  and  white  blossoms  turned  their  eyes  upward 
wet  with  dewy  moisture,  the  hoary  mosses  waved  their 
tresses,  the  larches  shook  their  tassels  gayly,  the  birches 
quivered  and  thrilled  with  joy  in  every  leaf,  and  the  rivulets 
gurgled  forth  a  silvery  sound  of  gladness.  On  this  partic- 
ular September  morning  Micah's  grove  was  radiant  with 
beauty.  The  wild  equinoctial  storm,  which  had  so  fiercely 
!  assailed  it  the  day  before,  had  brightened  it  into  fresh  ver- 
dure and  now  it  glittered  in  the  sunbeams  as  if  bejewelled 
with  emerald. 

Mr.  'Norton  and  Adele  reached  the  cottage  door,  on 
which  she  tapped  softly.  4 


38 


MIRAHICHI. 


[ 


"Come  in,"  Micah  almost  shouted,  without  moving firom 
his  seat  or  looking  up  from  his  occupation. 

The  maiden  opened  the  door,  and  said,  "Good  morning, 
Mcah." 

At  the  sound  of  her  voice  he  rose  instantly  and  handing 
a  chair  into  the  middle  of  the  floor,  said,  "O  I  come  in, 
Miss  Ady ;     I  didn't  know  ez  it  was  yeou." 

"  I  cannot  stop  now,  Micah,  but  here»is  a  gentleman  who 
has  a  little  business  with  you.  I  came  to  show  him  the 
way.     This  is  Mr.  Norton." 

And  away  Adele  sped,  without  farther  ceremony. 

Micah  looked  after  her  for  a  moment,  with  a  half  smile 
on  his  weather-beaten  face,  then  turned  and  motioning  Mr. 
Norton  to  a  chair,  reseated  liimself  on  a  wooden  chest,  with 
his  gun,  upon  which  he  again  commenced  operations,  his 
countenance  setting  into  its  usual  owl-like  solemnity. 

He  was  not  courtly  in  his  reception  of  strangers.  The 
missionary,  however,  had  dealt  with  several  varieties  of 
the  human  animal  before,  and  was  by  no  means  disturbed 
at  this  nonchalance. 

-  **  I  believe  you  are  from  the  States,  as  well  as  myself, 
Mr.  Mummychog,"  said  he,  after  a  short  silence. 

**  I'm  from  the  Kennebec  River,"  said  Micah,  laconically. 

*'  I  am  quite  extensively  acquainted  in  that  region,  but 
do  not  remember  to  have  heard  your  name  before.  .  It  is 
rather  an  uncommon  one." 

*'  I  guess  ye  won't  find  many  folks  in  them  parts,  ez  is 
called  Mummychog,"  said  Micah,  with  a  twinkle  of  the  oye 
and  something  like  a  grin,  on  his  sombre  visage.    * 


MIBAMIOHI* 


89 


**  You  Ve  a  snug  place  here,  Mr.  Micah/'  said  Mr.  Nor- 
ton, who',  haying  found  some  difficulty  in  restraining  a  smile, 
when  repeating  Mr.  Mummychdg's  surname,  concluded  to 
drop  it  altogether,  "but  what  could  have  induced  you  to  leave 
the  pleasant  Kennebec  and  come  to  this  distant  spot  ?  " 

**  Well,  I  cam*  to  git.a  chance  and  be  somwhere,  where  I 
could  jest  be  let  alone." 

"A  chance  for  what,  Mr.  Micah?" 

*<  Why,  hang  it,  a  chance  to  live  an'  dew  abeout  what  I 
want  tew.  The  moose  an'  wolves  an'  wildcats  hev  all  ben 
hunted  eout  o'  that  kentry.  Thar  wa  'nt  no  kind  ev  a  chance 
there.     So  I  cam'  here. 

"  You  have  a  wife,  I  suppose,  Mr.  Micah?  " 

"  Wife  I  no.     Do  ye  spose  I  want  to  hev  a  woman  kep* 

skeered  a  most  to  death  abeout  me,  all  the  time?  I'm  a 

fishin'  an'  huntin  good  part  o'  the  year.     Wild  beasts  and 

* 
sech,  is  what  I  like." 

"  Don't  you  feel  lopelyhere,  sometimes,  Mr  Micah?" 

"LunsumI  no.  There's  plenty  o' feUers  reound  here, 
all  the  time.     They're  a  heowlin'  set  tew,  ez  ever  J  see." 

*'  You  have  a  good  gun  there,"  suggested  the  missionary. 

*'  Well,  tolable,"  said  Micah,  looking  up  for  the  first  time 
since  Mr.  Norton  had  entered  the  house,  and  scanning  him 
from  head  to  foot  with  his  keen,  penetrating  glance.  "I 
■  ^ose  you  aint  much  used  to  firearms  ?  " 

"  I  have  some  acquaintance  with  them ;  but  my  present 
vocation  don't  require  their  use." 

Here  Mr.  Munknychog  rose,  and  laying  his  gun  on  the 
table,  scratched  his  head,  turned  toward  Mr.  Norton  and 
said,  <<  Hev  yeou  any  pertikilar  business  with  me?" 


40 


MIBAinCd* 


<*  Yes  sir,  I  have*  I  Came  to  Miramichi  to  accomplish 
an  important  object,  and  I  don't  know  of  another  person 
who  can  help  me  about  it  so  well  as  you  caC 

"  Well,  I  dunno.     What  upon  arth  is  it?  " 

**  To  be  plain  upon  the  point,"  said  the  missionary,  look- 
ing serious  and  earnest,  *'  I  have  come  here  to  preach  the 
gospel  of  Christ." 

**  Whew  I  religin,  is  it?  I  can  tell  ye  right  off,  its  no  go 
en  these  ere  parts."     ■  ■ 

<*  Don't  you  think  a  little  religion  is  needed  here,  Mr. 
Micah?" 

**  Well,  I  dunno.  Taint  wanted.  Folks  ez  lives  here, 
can't  abide  sermans  and  prayers  en  that  doleful  stuff." 

"You  say  you  came  here  for  a  chance,  Mr.  Micah.  I 
suppose  your  friends  came  for  the  same  purpose.  Now,  I 
have  come  to  show  them,  not  a  cJumcef  but  a  glorious  cer- 
tainty  for  happiness  in  this  world  and  in  the  eternity 
beyond/'  ,    , 

"Well,  they  don't  want  tew  know  anything  abeoutit. 
They  just  want  tew  be  let  alone,"  said  Micah. 

"I  suppose  they  do  wish  to  be  let  alone,"  said  Mr. 
Norton.  *  *  But  I  cannot  permit  them  to  go  down  to  wretch- 
edness and  sorrow  unwarned.  You  have  influence  with  your 
friends  here,  Mr.  Micah.  If  you  will  collect  the  men, 
women,  and  children  of  this  neighborhood  together,  some 
afternoon,  in  your  beautiful  grove,  I  will  promise  to  give 
them  not  a  long  sermon,  but  something  that  will  do  them 
good  to  hear."  ^ 

* '  I  can't  dew  it  no  heow.  There 's  ben  preachers  along  here 


MIBAMIOHI. 


41 


afore,  an'  a  few  'ud  go  eout  o'  curiosity,  an'  some  to  make 
a  disturbance  an'  sech,  an'  it  never  'meounts  to  anything, 
no  heow.  Then  sposin  we  haint  dun  jest  as  we  'd  oughter, 
who 'se  gin  yeou  the  right  tew  twit  us  on  it?" 

*'I  certainly  have  no  right,  on  my  own  responsibility,  to 
reproach  you,  or  your  friends  for  sin,  for  I  am  a  sinM  man 
myself  and  have  daily  need  of  repentance.  But  I  trust  I 
have  found  out  a  way  of  redemption  from  guilt,  and  I  wish 
to  communicate  it  to  my  fellow-beings  that  they  also  may 
have  knowledge  of  it,  and  fly  to  Christ,  their  only  safety 
and  happiness  in  this  world."  >    » 

«  Micah  made  no  reply. 

There  was  a  pause  of  several  minutes,  and  then  the  mis- 
sionary rose  and  said,  "Well,  Mr.  Micah,  if  you  can't  help 
me,  you  can't.  The  little  maiden  that  came  with  me,  told 
me  you  could  render  me  aid,  if  any  one  could,  and  from 
what  she  said,  I  entertained  a  hope  of  your  assistance. 
The  Lord  will  remove  the  obstacles  to  proclaiming  this  sal- 
vation in  some  way,  I  know." 

"Miss  Ady  didn't  say  I  could  help  ye  neow,  did  she?" 
said  Micah,  scratching  his  head. 

* '  Certainly.     Why  did  she  bring  me  here  ? " 

"Well,  ef  that  ainttamal  queer,"  said  Micah,  falling 
into  a  deep  reverie. 

In  a  few  moments,  Mr.  Norton  shook  his  new  acquaint- 
ance heartily  by  the  hand  and  bade  him  good  morning. 
Was  the  good  man  discouraged  in  his  efforts?  By  no 
means. 

He  had  placed  in  the  mind  of  Micah  Mummychog  a 
4* 


42 


MOtAMIOHI* 


•mall  fusee,  so  to  speak,  which  he  foriesaw  would  &re  a 
idiole  train  of  discarded  ideas  and  cast-off  thou^ts,  and  he 
expected  to  hear  from  it. 

He  filled  up  the  day  with  a  round  of  calls  upon  the  Ta- 
nous  ftunilies  <^  the  neighborhood,  and  came  home  to  his 
lodgings  at  Mr.  Dubois's  with  his  heart  overwhelmed  hy 
the  ignorance  and  debasement  he  had  witnessed. 

Yet  his  ooiuage  and  hopes  were  strong. 


';■;■■  ^ 


v?_  ■»■; 


....^£'l.-- 


CHAPTEB  V. 

MRS.  LANSDOWNE. 


P  —  is  a  city  by  the  sea.  Built  upon  an  elevated 
peninsula,  surrounded  by  a  country  of  manifold  resources 
of  beauty  and  fertility,  with  a  fine,  broad  harbor,  it  sits 
queenlike  in  conscious  power,  facing  with  serene  aspect  th*> 
ever-restless  waves  that  wash  continually  its  feet.  The 
place  might  be  called .  ancient,  if  tha#  term  could  properly 
be  applied  to  any  of  the  works  of  man  on  New  Eng- 
land shores.  There  are  parts  of  it,  where  the  architedw^ 
of  whole  streets  looks  quaint  and  time-worn ;  here*and 
there  a  few  antique  churches  appear,  but  modem  struc- 
tures predominate,  and  the  place  is  full  of  vigorous  life  and 
industry. 

It  was  sunset.  The  sky  was  sufiused  with  the  richest 
carmine.  The  waters  lay  quivering  beneath  the  palpitat- 
ing, rosy  light.  The  spires  and  domes  of  the  town 
caught  the  ethereal  hues  and  the  emerald  hills  were  bathed 
in  the  glowing  atmosphere. 

In  lb  larg*;  apartment,  in  fhe  second  story  of  a  tall,  t}rick 
mansion  on -street,  sat  Mrs.  Lansdowne.  Suscepti- 
ble though  she  was  to  the  attractions  of  l^e  scene  before 


44 


MIBAMICin. 


I 


her,  they  did  not  now  occupy  her  attention.  Her  brow 
was  contracted  with  painful  thought,  her  lip  quivered  with 
deep  emotion.  The  greatest  sorrow  she  had  known  had 
fallen  upon  her  through  the  error  of  one  whom  she  fondly 
loved.  ■'  ^ 

Though  enwrapped  in  a  cloud  of  grief,  one  could  see 
that  she  possessed  beauty  of  a  r^ch  and  rare  type.  She 
had  the  delicate,  aquiline  nose,  the  dark,  lustrous  eyes  and 
hair,  the  finely  arched  eyebrows  of  the  Hebrew  woman. 
But  she  was  no  Jewess. 

Mrs.  Lansdowne  could  number  in  her  ancestry  men 
who  had  been  notable  leaders  in  the  Revolutionary  war 
with  England,  and,  later  in  our  history,  others,  who  were 
remarkable  for  patriotism,  nobUity  of  character,  intellectual 
ability,  and  high  moral  and  rehgious  culture. 

Early  in  life,  she  had  been  united  to  Mr.  Lansdowne,  a 
gentleman  moving  in  the  same  rank  of  society  with  her- 
aeUk  His  health  obliged  him  to  give  up  the  professional  life 
he  anticipated,  and  he  had  become  a  prosperous  and  enter- 
prising merchant  in  his  native  city.  They  had  an  only 
child,  a  son  eighteen  years  old,  who  in  the  progress  of  his 
collegiate  course  had  just  entered  the  senior  year. 

Edward  Somers  was  Mrs.  Lansdowne's  only  brother,  her 
mother  having  died  a  week  gfterhis  bJlh.  She  was  eleven 
years  of  age  at  the  time,  and  from  that  early  period  had 
watched  over  and  loved  him  tenderly.  He  had  grown  up 
handsome  and  accomplished,  fascinating  in  manners  and 
most  affectionate  toward  herself.  She  had  learned  that  he 
had  been  engaged  in  what  appeared,  upon  the  face  of  it>  a 


MnUMICUI. 


45 


dishonorable  affair,  and  her  sensitive  nature  had  been  greatly 
shocked. 

Two  years  before,  Mr.  Lansdowne  had  taken  him  as  a 
junior  partner  in  his  business.  He  had  since  been  a  mem- 
ber of  his  sister's  family. 

A  young  foreigner  had  come  to  reside  in  the  city,  profess- 
ing himself  a  member  of  a  noble  Italian  family.  Giuseppe 
Bossini  was  poet,  orator,  and  mi^ician.  As  poet  and  orator 
he  was  pleasing  and  graceful ;  as  a  musician  he  excelled. 
He  was  a  brilliant  and  not  obtrusive  conversationalist.  His 
enthusiastic  expressions  of  admiration  for  our  &ee  institu- 
tions won  him  favor  with  all  classes.  In  the  fashionable 
circle  he  soon  became  a  pet.  * 

Mrs.  Lansdowne  had  from  the  first  distrusted  him. 
There  was  no  tangible  foundation  for  her  suspicions,  but 
she  had  not  been  able  to  overcome  a  certain  instinct  that 
warned  her  from  his  presence.  She  watched,  with  mis- 
givings of  heart,  her  brother's  growing  familiarity  with  the 
Italian.  A  facility  of  temper,  his  characteristic  from  boy- 
hood, made  her  fear  that*  he  might  not  be  able  to  withstand 
the  soft,  insinuating  voice  that  veils  guilty  designs  by 
winning  sophistries  and  appeals  to  sympathy  and  friendship. 
And  so  it  proved. 

.  One  day,  in  extreme  agitation,  Bossini  came  to  Mr. 
Somers,  requesting  the  loan  of  a  considerable  sum  of 
money,  to  meet  demands  made  upon  him.  Bemittances 
daily  expected  from  Europe  had  failed  to  reaxsh  him.  Mr. 
Somers  was  imable  to  command  so  large  a  sum  as  he 
required.    His  s^or  partner  was  absent  &om  home.    But 


46 


MIBAMIOHI. 


the  wily  Rossini  so  won  upon  his  sympathies,  that  he  went 
to  the  private  safe  of  his  brother-in-law,  and  took  from 
thence  the  money  necessary  to  free  his  friend  from  embar- 
rassment. He  never  saw  the  Italian  again. 

"When  the  treachery  of  which  he  had  ^been  the  victim 
burst  upon  him,  together  with  his  own  weakness  and  guilt, 
he  was  filled  with  shame  and  remorse.  Mr.  Lansdowne 
was  a  man  of  stern  integrity  and  uncompromising  justice. 
He  dared  not  meet  his  eye  on  his  return,  and  he  dreaded 
to  communicate  the  unworthy  transaction  to  his  sister,  who 
had  so  gently  yet  so  faithfully  warned  him. 

He  made  desperate  efforts  to  get  traces  of  the  villain 
who  had  deceived  him.  Unsuccessful  —  maddened  with 
sorrow  and  shame,  he  wrote  a  brief  note  of  farewell  to  Mrs. 
Lansdowne,  in  which  he  confessed  the  wrong  he  had  com- 
mitted against  her  husband,  which  Mr.  Lansdowne  would 
reveal  to  her.  He  begged  her  to  think  as  kindly  of  him 
as  possible,  averring  that  an  hour  before  the  deed  was 
done,  he  could  not  have  believed  himself  capable  of  it. 
Then  he  forsook  the  city. 

When  these  occurrences  were  communicated  to  Mr. 
Lansdowne,  he  was  filled  with  surprise  and  indignation, — 
not  at  the  pecuniary  loss,  which,  with  his  ample  wealth, 
was  of  little  moment  to  him,  but  on  account  of  such  impru- 
dence and  folly,  where  he  least  expected  it. 

A  few  hours,  however,  greatly  modified  his  view  of  the 
case.  He  had  found,  in  the  safe,  a  note  from  Mr.  Somers, 
stating  the  circumstances  under  which  he  had  taken  the 
money  and  also  the  disappearance  of  Kossini.     This,  to- 


MIBAMICm. 


47 


gether  with  his  wife's  distress,  softened  his  feelings  to  such 
a  degree  thaf  ho  consented  to  recall  his  brother  and  rein- 
state him  in  his  former  place  in  business. 
'    But  whither  had  th^ fugitive  gone?    Mrs  Lanbdowne 
found  no  clue  to  his  intended  destination. 

During  the  morning  of  the  day  on  which  she  is  first  in- 
troduced to  the  attention  of  the  reader,  she  had  visited  his 
apartment  to  make  a  more  thorough  exploration.  Look- 
ing around  the  room,  she  saw  lying  in  the  fireplace  a  bit 
of  paper,  half  buried  in  the  ashes.  She  drew  it  out,  and 
after  examining  carefully  found  written  upon  it  a  few 
words  that  kindled  a  new  hope  in  her  heart.  Taking  it  to 
her  husband,  a  consultation  was  held  upon  its  contents  and 
an  expedition  planned,  of  which  an  account  will  be  given 
in  the  next  chapter.    '  * 

She  was  now  the  prey  of  conflicting  emotions.  The  ex- 
pedition, which  had  that  day  been  arranged,  involved  a 
sacrifice  of  feeling  on  her  part,  greater  she  feared  than  she 
would  be  able  to  make. 

But  in  order  to  recover  her  brother  to  home,  honor,  and 
happiness,  it  seemed  necessary  to  be  made.  Voices  from 
the  dead  were  pleading  at  her  heart  incessantly,  urging 
her,  at  whatever  cost,  to  seek  and  save  him,  who,  with 
herself,  constituted  the  only  remnant  of  their  family  left  on 
earth.  Her  own  affection  for  him  also  pressed  its  elo- 
quent suit,  and  at  last  the  decision  was  confirmed.  She 
resolved  to  venture  her  son  in  the  quest. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  sunset  hues  had  faded  from  the  sky 
and  evening  had  approached.    The  golden  full  moon  had 


» t 


48 


MTBAMTOHI. 


riaen  and  was  now  shining  in  at  the  hroad  window^  bring- 
ing into  beautiful  relief  the  delicate  tracery  on  the  high 
cornices,  the  rich  carvings  of  the  mahogany  furniture,  and 
striking  out  a  soft  sheen  from  Mrs.  Lansdowne's  black 
satin  dress,  as  she  moved  slowly  to  and  fro,  through  the 
light.    • 

She  seated  herself  once  more  at  the  window  and  gazed 
upon  the  lovely  orb  of  night.  A  portion  of  its  serenity  en- 
tered and  tranquillized  her  soul.  The  cloud  of  care  and 
anxiety  passed  from  her  brow,  leaving  it  smooth  and  pure 
as  that  of  an  angel. 


«■/ 


■  -•'  I 


S    '■' 


CHAPIEB  VI. 

«*JOHN,    DEAB." 

O^  the  eyening  that  Mia.  Lansdowne  was  thus  occupied, 
John,  her  son,  who  had  been  out  on  the  bay  all  the  after- 
noon, rushed  past  the  drawing-room  door,,  bounded  up  the 
long  staircase,  entered  his  room,  situated  on  the  same  floor, 
not  far  from  his  mother's,  aiid  rang  the  bell  violently. 

In  a  few  minutes,  Aimt  Esther,  an  ancient  black  woman, 
who  had  long  been  in  the  service  of  the  family,  made  her 
appearance  at  the  door,  and  inquired  what  **Massa  John" 
wanted.  , 

**I  want  some  fire  here.  Aunt  Esther.  IVe  been  out  on 
the  bay,  filching.  Our  smack  got  run  down,  and  I've  had  a 
ducking ;  I  feel  decidedly  chilly.'* 

<*Law  sakes  I"  said  she,  in  great  trepidation,  <<yer  orter 
get  warm  right  away,"  and  hastened  down  stairs. 

A  stout,  hole  man,  soon  entered  the  room,  with  a  basket 
of  wood  and  a  pan  of  coals,  followed  immediately  by  Aunt 
Esther,  who  began  to  arrange  them  on  the  hearth. 

Aunt  Esther's  complexion  was  of  a  pure  shining  black, 
her  features  of  the  size  and  c^t  usually  accompanying  that 
hue,  and  lighted  up  by  a  contented,  sunshiny  expression, 


\  ( 


50 


MmAMICUI. 


which  truly  indicated  the  normal  Htate  of  her  mind.  A 
brilliant,  yellow  turban  sat  well  upon  her  woolly  locks  and 
a  blue  and  red  chintz  dress,  striped  perpendicularly,  some- 
what elongated  the  effect  of  her  stout  dumpy  fi^ire.  She 
had  taken  care  of  John  during  his  babyhood  and  early  boy- 
hood, and  he  remained  to  this  day  her  especial  pet  and  pride. 

"Aunt  Esther,"  saidlhat  young  man,  throwing  himself 
into  an  easy-chair,  and  assuming  as  lackadaisical  an  ex- 
pression as  his  frank  and  roguish  face  would  allow,  **I 
have  just  lost  a  friend." 

"Yer  have?"  said  his  old  nurse,  looking  roimd  compas- 
sionately. 

**  When  did  yer  lose  him  ?  " 

"About  an  hour  ago."       ^ 

« <  What  did  he  die  of,  Massa  John  ?" 

*'  Of  a  painful  nervous  disease,"  said  he. 

**How  old  was  he?"  , 

**  A  few  years  younger  than  I  am." 

"Did  he  die  hard?" 

**  Very  hard,  Aunt  Esther,"  said  John,  looking  solemn. 

**Had  yer  known  him  long?" 

"Yes,  a  long  time." 
.   Aunt  Esther  gave  a  deep  sigh.     "Does  yer  know  weder 
he  was  pious?" 

"Well,  here  he  is.  Perhaps  you  can  tell  by  looking  at 
him,"  said  he,  handing  her  a  tooth,  he  had  just  had  ex- 
tracted, and  bursting  into  a  boyish  laugh.  • 

"01  yer  go  along,  Massa  John.  I  might  hev  knowed 
it  was  one  of  yer  deceitful  tricks,"  said  Aunt  Esther,  trying 


MIRAMIOm. 


51 


1.    A 

IS  and 
some- 
She 
[y  boy- 
prido. 
limsclf 
an  ex- 
w,  "I 

)mpas- 


olemn. 


weder 

king  at 
ad  ex- 

tnowed 
trying 


to  conceal  her  amusement,  by  puttmg  on  an  injured  look. 
<*  There,  the  fire  bums  now.  Yer  jest  put  on  them  dry 
clothes  OS  quick  as  ever  yer  can,  or  mobbe  ye  '11  lose  another 
friend  before  long."  ,  "  ^ 

*'It  shall  be  done  as  you  say,  beloved  Aunt  Esther," 
said  he,  rising  and  bowing  profoundly,  as  she  left  the  room. 

Having  obeyed  the  worthy  woman's  injunction,  ho  drew 
the  easy-chair  to  the  fire,  leaned  his  head  back  and  spent 
the  next  half  hour  hovering  between  consciousness  and 
dreamland. 

From  this  state,  he  was  roused  by  a  gentle  tap  on  his 
door,  followed  by  his  mother's  voice,  saying,  *<  John,  dear?'» 

Jonn  rose  instantly,  tlu-ew  the  door  wide  open  and 
ushered  in  the  lady,  saying,  **  Come  in,  little  queen  mother, 
come  in,"  and  bowing  over  her  hand  with  a  pompous,  yet 
courtly  grace. 

Mrs.  Lansdowne,  when  seen  a  short  time  since  walking 
in  her  solitude,  seemed  quite  lofty  in  stature,  but  now, 
stanr?i';g  t^^r  a  moment  beside  the  regal  height  of  her  son, 
one  could  fully  justify  him  in  bestowing  upon  her  the  title 
with  which  he  had  greeted  her.   *         ' 

John  Lansdowne  was  fast  developing,  physically  as  well 
as  mentally  into  a  noble  manhood,  and  it  was  no  wonder 
that  Ids  mother's  heart  swelled  with  pride  and  joy  when  she 
looked  upon  him.  Straipfht,  muscular,  and  vigorous  in 
forpi,  his  features  and  exjtression  were  precisely  her  own, 
enlarged  and  intensified.  C^pen  and  generous  in  disposition, 
his  character  had  a  certain  quality  of  firmness,  quite  in 
contrast  with  that  of  his  uncle  Edward,  and  this  she  had 


52 


MIRAMICHl. 


carefully  sought  to   strengthen.    In  the'  pursuit  of  his 
studies,  he  had  thus  far  been  earnest  and  siiccessftil^ 

During  the  last  half  year>  however,  he  had  chafed  under 
the  confinements  of  student  life,  and  having  now  become 
quite  restive  in  the  harness,  he  had  asked  his  father  for  a 
few  months  of  freedom  from  books.  He  wished  to  explore 
a  wilderness,  to  go  on  a  foreign  voyage,  to  wander  away, 
away,  anywhere  beyond  the  sight  of  college  walls. 

«*John,"  said  Mrs.  Lansdowne,  "I  have  been  con- 
versing with  your  father  on  the  subject,  and  he  has  con- 
sented to  an  exjpedition  for  you." 

"01  glorioiis  I  mother  where  am  I  to  go?  to  the  Bar- 
can  desert,  or  to  the  Arctic  Ocean?  " 

**  You  are  to  make  a  journey  to  the  Miramichi  River?** 

"Miramichil"    said  John,   after  a  brief  pause,   **I 
thought  I  had  a  slight  acquaintance  with  geography,  but 
where  in  the  wide  world  is  Miramichi  ?  " 
I     "It  is  in  the  province  of  New  Brunswick.     You  will 
have  seventy-five  miles  of  almost    unbroken  wilderness, 
to  pass  through."  •  -    «t^ 

**  Seventy-five  miles  of  wilderness  I  magnificent  I  where  s 
my  ride,  modier?  I  haven't  seen  it  for  an  age." 

"  Don't  be  so  impetuous,  John.  This  journey  through 
the  wilderness  will  be  anything  but  magnificent.  You  will 
meet  mayy  dangers  by  the  way  and  will  encounter  many 
hardships," 

"  But,  mother,'  what  care  I  for  the  perils  of  the  way. 
Look  at  that  powerful  member,"  stretcliing  out  his  large, 
muscular  arm. 


MIRAMICm. 


53 


*<  Don't  trust  too  much  in  that,  John.  Your  strong 
arm  is  a  good  weapon,  but  you  may  meet  something  yet 
that  is  more  than  a  match  for  it." 

**  Possibly,"  said  John,  with  a  sceptical  air,  **but  when 
am  I  to  start,  mother?"  : :       > 

"To-morrow."  ►   *  .  . 

*  *  To-morrow  I  that  is  fine.  Well  1 1  must  bestir  myself," 
said  he,  rising.  '    -'        .- 

"Not  to-night,  my  dear.  You  Ve  nothing  to  do  at  pres- 
ent. Arrangements  are  made.  Be  quiet,  John.  We 
may  noi  sit  thus  together  again  for  a  long  while." 

*  *  True,  mother,"  said  he,  reseating  himself.  "But  how 
did  you  happen  to  think  of  Miramichi?"  he  asked,  after 
a  pause. 

"That  is  what  I  must  explain  to  you.  Yoftr  uncle  Ed- 
ward has  committed  an  act  of  imprudence  which  he  fancies 
your  father  will  not  forgive  him.  He  has  left  us  without 
giving  any  information  of  his  destination.  We  hope  you 
will  find  him  in  New  Brunswick,  and  this  is  your  errand. 
You  must  seek  him  and  bring  him  back  to  us." 

John^ad  been  absent  at  the  time  of  Mr.  Somers's  depar- 
ture, and,  without  making  definite  inquiries,  supposed  him 
to  be  away  on  ordinary  business.  ^i 

After  his  first  surprise  at  his  mother's  announcement,  he 
was  quite  silent  for  a  few  moments.  . 

Then  he  said,  firmly,  "  If  he  is  there,  I  will  find  him." 

Mrs.  Lansdowne  did  not  explain  to  him  the  nature  of  her 
brother's  offence,  but  simply  commimicated  her  earnest  de- 
sire for  his  return.    Then  going  together  to  the  library  they 


54 


MIBAMICm. 


consulted  the  map  of  Maine  and  Ne^  Brunswick.  "Mi, 
Lansdowne  joiiied  them,  —  the  route  was  fully  discussed, 
and  John  retired  to  dream  of  the  delights  of  a  life  untram- 
melled bj  college,  or  city  walls. 


!v>':;^    ^-.r"^'? 


Mr. 

iscd, 
reun- 


:*- 


,  CHAPTER  vn.   ; 

A  J0T7BNEY  THROUGH  THE  WILDERNESS* 

Two  days  after  the  arrival  of  Mr.  Norton  at  the  Dubois 
House,  on  the  banks  of  the  Miramichi,  John  Lansdowne, 
on  a  brilliant  September  morning,  started  on  his  memor- 
able journey  to  that  region. 

He  was  up  betimes,  and  made  his  appearance  at  the 
stables  just  as  James,  the  stout  little  coachman,  was  com- 

m 

pleting  Caesar's  elaborate  toilet. 

Csesar  was  a  noble-looking,  black  animal,  whose  strength 
and  capacity  for  endurance  had  been  well  tested.  This 
morning  he  was  in  high  spirits  and  looked  good  for  months 
of  rough-and-tumble  service.  ^  ^ 

"  Here's  yer  rifle.  Mister  John.  I  put  it  in  trim  for  ye 
yesterday.  I  s'pose  ye  '11  be  a  squintiu'  reound  sharp  for 
bears  and  wolves  and  other  livin'  wild  beasts  when  ye  git 
inter  the  woods."  ..  .     : 

*  *  Certainly,  James.  I  expect  to  set  the  savage  old  mon- 
sters scattering  in  everjr  direction." 

**  Well,  but  lookeout.  Mister  John  and  keep  number  one 
eout  o'  fire  and  water  and  sech." 

<<  Trust  me  fordoing  that,  James." 


MIBAMICHI. 


After  many  affectionate  counsels  and  adieus  from  his  par- 
ents, John,  mounted  on  the  gallant  Caesar,  with  his  rifle 
and  portmanteau,  posted  on  at  a  rapid  rate,  soon  leaving 
the  city  far  behind.  ' 

The  position  of  one  who  sits  confidently  upon  the  back 
of  a  brave  and  spirited  horse,  is  surely  enviable.  The  mas- 
tery of  a  creature  of  such  strength  and  capacity — ^whose 
neck  is  clothed  with  thunder  —  the  glory  of  whose  nostrils 
is  terrible,  gives  to  the  rider  a  sense  of  freedom  and  power 
not  often  felt  amidst  the  common  conditions  of  life*  No 
wonder  that  the  Bedouin  of  the  desert,  crafty,  cringing, 
abject  in  cities,  when  he  mounts  his  Arab  steed  and  is  off 
to  the  burning  sands,  becomes  dignified  aud  courteous. 
jLiberty  and  power  are  his.  They  elevate  him  for  the  time 
in  the  scale  of  existence.  .  jmi^i 

John  was  a  superb  rider.  From  his  first  trial,  he  had  sat 
on  horseback,  finn  and  kingly. 

He  and  Csesar  apparently  indulged  in  common  emotions 
on  this  morning  of  their  departure  from  home.  They  did 
not  it  is  true  "smell  the  battle  afar  ofi',  the  thunder  of  the 
captains  and  the  shouting,"  but  they  smelt  the  wilderness,  the 
wUd,  the  fresh,  the  free,  and  they  said  ha  I  ha  I  And  so 
they  sped  on  their  long  journey.  * 

The  young  man  made  a  partial  ax;quaintance  with  lum- 
bering operations  at  Bangor ;  had  his  sublime  ideas  of  the 
nobility  of  the  aborigines  of  the  country  somer/hat  discom- 
posed by  the  experience  of  a  day  spent  in  the  Indian  settle- 
ment at  Oldtown ;  found  a  decent  shelter  at  Mattawamkeag 
Point,  and,  at  last,  with  an  exultant  bound  of  heart,  struck 
into  the  forest. 


I  I 


«.■  >■ 


MIBAMICHI. 


57 


The  only  road  through  this  solitary  domain  was  the  rough 
path  made  by  lumbermen,  iu  hauling  supplies  to  the  various 
camps,  scattered  at  intervals  through  the  dense  wilderness,, 
extending  seventy-five  miles,  from  Mattawamkeag  Point  to 
the  British  boundary.  ■    ' 

Here  Nature  was  found  in  magnificent  wildness  and 
disarray,  her  hair  quitd  unkempt.  Great  pines,  shooting 
up  immense  distances  in  the  sky  smarted  the  path  and  flung 
their  green-gray,  trailing  mosses  abroad  on  the  breeze; 
crowds  of  fir,  spruce,  hemlock,  and  cedar  trees  stood 
waving  aloft  their  rich,  dark  banners;  clusters  of  tall,, 
white  birches,  scattered  here  and  there,  relieved  and  bright* 
ened  the  sombre  evergreen  depths,  and  the  maple  with  its 
affluent  foliage  crowned  each  swell  of  the  densely  covered 
land.  Here  and  there,  a  scarlet  tree  or  bush  shot  out  its 
sanguiae  hue,  betokening  the  maturity  of  the  season  and 
the  near  approach  of  autumn^s  latest  splendor.  Big  bould« 
ers  of  granite,  overlaid  with  lichens,  were  profusely  orna- 
mented with  crimson  creepers.  Everything  appeared  in 
splendid  and  wasteful  confusion.  There  were  huge  trees 
with  branches  partially  torn  away ;  otliers,  with  split  trunks 
leaning  in  slow  death  against  their  fellows ;  others,  pros- 
trate on  the  ground ;  andaround  and  among  all,  grew  brakes 
and  ferns  and  parasitic  vines ;  and  nodded  purple,  red,  and 
golden  berries. 

The  brown  squirrels  ran  up  and  down  the  trees  and 
over,  the  tangled  rubbish,  chirping  merrily;  a  few  late 
lingering  birds  sang  little  jerky  notes  of  music,  and  the 
woodpecker  made  loud  tapping  sounds  which  echoed  like 


58 


MTRAMTCm. 


the  strokes  of  the  woodman's  axe.  The  air  was  rich  and 
bahny,  —  spiced  with  cedar,  pine,  aad  hemlock,  and  a  thou- 
sand unknown  odors. 

The  path  through  this  wild  of  forest  was  rude  and  diffi- 
cult, but  the  travellers  held  on  their  way  unflinchingly, — 
the  horse  with  unfaltering  courage  and  patience,  and  his 
rider  with  unceasing  wonder  and  delight. 

At  noon  they  came  to  a  halt,  just  where  the  sun  looked 
down  golden  and  cheery  on  a  little  dancing  rivulet  that 
babbled  by  the  wayside.  Here  Caesar  received  his  oats, 
for  which  his  master  had  made  room  in  his  portmanteau, 
at  the  expense,  somewhat,  of  his  own  convenience.  The 
young  man  partook  of  a  hearty  lunch  and  resigned  himself 
to> dreams  of  life  under  the  greenwood  tree. 

After  an  hour's  rest,  again  in  the  saddle  and  on  —  on, 
through  recurring  scenes  of  wildness,  waste,  and  beauty. 
Just  as  the  stars  began  to  glint  forth  and  the  traveller  and 
horse  felt  willing  perhaps  to  confess  to  a  little  weariness, 
they  saw  the  light  of  the  expected  cabin  fire  in  the  distance. 
Caesar  gave  a  low  whinny  of  approval  and  hastened  on. 

Two  or  three  red-shirted,  long-bearded  men  gave  them 
a  rude  welcome.  They  blanketed  and  fed  Caesar,  and  pick- 
eted him  under  a  low  shed  built  of  logs. 

John,  as  hungry  as  a  famished  bear,  drank  a  deep  draught 
of  a  black  concoction  called  tea,  which  his  friends  here 
presented  to  him,  ate  a  powerftd  piece  of  dark  bread,  inter- 
larded with  fried  pork,  drew  up  with  the  others  around  the 
fire,  and,  in  reply  to  their  curious  questionings,  gave  them 
the  latest  news  from  the  outside  world.  '     : 


MTRAMTCm. 


69 


■«»;f 


For  this  infonnation  he  was  rewarded  by  the  strange 
and  sturing  adventures  of  wilderness  life  they  related  dur- 
ing the  quickly  flitting  evening  hours.     *^^* 

They  told  of  the  scores  who  went  into  the  fores  ^  in  the 
early  part  of  winter,  not  to  return  until  late  in  the  .-pring ; 
of  snow-storms  and  packs  of  wolves  j  of  herds  of  deer  and 
moose ;  they  related  thrilling  stories  of  men  crushed  by 
falling  trfies,  or  jammed  between  logs  in  the  streams,  to- 
gether with  incidents  of  the  long  winter  evenings,  usually 
spent  by  them  in  story  telling  and  card  playing.  Thus  he 
became  acquainted  with  the  routine  of  camp  life. 

Wearied  at  last  with  the  unaccustomed  fatigues  of  the 
day,  he  wrapped  himself  in  his  cloak,  placed  his  port- 
manteau under  his  head  for  a  pillow  and  floated  ofi*  to  dream- 
land, under  the  impression  that  this  gypsying  sort  of  life, 
w     just  tne  one  of  all  others  he  should  most  like  to  live. 

The  foUov^ing  morning,  the  path  of  our  traveller  struck 
through  a  broad  reach  of  the  melancholy,  weird  desolation, 
called  a  burnt  district.  He  rode  out,  suddenly,  from  the 
dewy  gj^eenness  and  balm-breathing  atmosphere  of  the  un- 
blighted  forest,  into  sunshine  that  poured  down  in  torrents 
from  the  sky,  falling  on  charred,  shining  shafts  and  stumps 
of  trees,  and  a  brilliant  carpet  of  fireweed. 

It  is  nearly  impossible  ^o  give  one  who  has  not  seen 
something  of  the  kind,  an  adequate  impression  of  the  pe- 
culiar appearance  of  such  a  region.  The  strange,  grotesque- 
looking  stems,  of  every  imaginable  shape,  left  standing  like 
a  company  of  black  dwarfs  and  giants  scattered  over  the 
land,  some  of  them  surmounted  with  ebony  crowns ;  some, 


60 


MIBAMICm. 


with,heada  covered  like  olden  warriors,  with  jetty  helmets ; 
some  with  brawny,  long  arms  stretched  over  the  pathway 
as  if  to  seize  the  passer  by,  and  all  with  feet  planted, 
seemingly  in  deep  and  flaming  fire.  How  quickly  nature 
goes  about  repairing  her  desolations  I  So  great  in  this 
case  is  her  haste  to  cover  up  the  black,  unseemly  surface  of 
the  earth,  that,  from  the  strange  resemblance  of  the  weed 
with  which  she  clothes  it  to  the  fiery  elements,  it  would 
seem  as  if  she  had  3aot  yet  been  able  to  thrust  the  raging 
glow  out  of  her  fancy,  and  so  its  type  has  crept  again  over 
the  blighted  spot. 

John  rode  on  over  the  glowing  ground,  the  black  mon- 
sters grimacing'  and  scowling  at  him  as  ho  passed.  What 
^  nice  eerie  place  this  would  be  thoaght  he  for  witches, 
wizards,  and  all  Satan's  gentry,  of  every  shape  and  hue,  to 
hold  their  high  revels  in.  And  he  actually  began  to  shout 
the  witches  song —  hov 

**  Black  spirits  and  white, 
>  Red  spirits  and  gray." 

At  which  adjuration,  Caesar,  doubtless  knowing  who 
were  called  upon,  pricked  up  his  ears  and  started  on  a  full 
run,  probably  not  wishing  to  find  himself  in  such  company 
just  at  that  time.  * 

An  establishment  similar  to  the  one  that  had  sheltered 
him  the  night  previous,  profifered  its  entertainment  at  the 
close  of  our  adventurer's  second  day.  The  third  day  in 
the  wilderness  was  signalized  by  an  incident,  which  excited 
such  triumphant  emotions  as  to  cause  it  to  be  long  remem- 


*t 


$' 


* 


SIIRAMICni. 


/ 
61 


il 


I-, 


bered.  About  an  hour  subsequent  to  his  noon  halt,  as  he 
and  Csesar  were  proceeding  along  at  a  moderate  pace,  he 
heard  a  rustling,  crackling  noise  on  the  right  side  of  the 
path  and  suddenly  a  deer,  frightened  and  panting,  flew  ' 
across  the  road,  turned  for  a  moment  an  almost  human ^ 
despairing  look  toward  him,  plunged  into  the  tangled  un* 
dcr-growth  on  the  left  and  was  gone  from  sight.  John' 
drew  his  reins  instantly,  bringing  his  horse  to  a  dead  stand, 
loosened  his  rifle  from  his  shoulder  and  after  examining  it 
closely,  remained  quiet.  Ilis  patience  was  not  taxed  by 
long  waiting.  Within  the  space  of  two  minutes,  there  was 
another  sharp  crunching  and  cracklingof  dry  boughs,  when 
a  wolf,  large,  gray,  and  fierce,  sprang  into  the  ^path  from 
the  same  opening,  following  on  the  trail  of  the  deer.  He 
had  nearly  crossed  the  narrow  road  in  hot  pursuit  and  was 
about  springing  into  the  thicket  beyond,  when  an  acciden- 
tal turn  of  his  head  brought  our  hero  suddenly  to  his  atten ' 
tion.     He  stopped,  as  if  struck  by  a  spell  of  enchantment. 

"Whiz  I  the  ball  flew.  The  very  instant  it  struck,  the 
bloodthirsty  monster  fell  dead.  When  John  reached  the 
spot,  there  was  scarcely  the  quiver  of  a  limb,  so  well  had 
the  work  of  death  been  accomplished.  Yet  the  wolfish  face 
grinned  still  a  savage,  horrible  defiance. 

"  Here,  Csesar,"  he  exclaimed,  in  a  boastful  tone,  **  do 
you  know  that  this  old  fellow  lying  here,  won't  get  the 
drink  out  of  the  veins  of  that  dainty  creatm*e  he  was  so 
thirsty  for  ?  No  I  nor  ever  cheat  any  sweet  little  Red 
Hiding  Hood  into  thinking  him  her  grandmother?  This  is 
the  last  of  him.     Did  n't  I  do  the  neat  thing,  Caesar  ?  " 


62 


BUBAHICHI. 


► 


Cffisar  threw  his  head  on  one  side,  with  an  air  of  admi- 
ration and  gave  a  low  whinny,  that  betokened  a  etate  of 
intense  satisfactioh  at  the  whole  transaction. 

It  may  appear  frivolous  to  those  who  have  read  with 
unwavering  credulity  the  olden  tales  of  the  prowess  and 
achievements  of  knights  errant  in  the  days  of  chivalry, 
that  one  should  stop  to  relate  such  a  commonplace  inci-  - 
dent  as  the  shooting  of  a  wolf,  and  above  all,  that  the 
hero  of  this  narrative,  should  betray,  even  to  his  horse, 
such  a  decided  emotion  of  self  admiration  for  having  per- 
formed the  feat.  Such  a  trifle  would  not  indeed  be  worth 
mentioning  in  company  with  the  marvellous  deeds  and 
mysterious  sorceries  of  the  old  romaunt,  but  this  being  a 
true  story,  the  hero  young,  and  this  the  first  game  of  the 
kind  he  has  yet  brought  down,  it  must  be  excused. 

After  a  critical  examination  of  his  victim,  our  traveller 
mounted  his  horse  and  proceeded  on  his  journey,  much 
gratified  at  his  afternoon's  work,  and  inwardly  resolving  how 
he  would  make  the  eyes  of  James  and  Aunt  Esther  stand 
out,  while  listening  to  the  account  of  it  he  should  give  them, 
on  his  return  home. 

In  about  seventeen  days  after  his  departure  from  P., 
John  safely  accomplished  his  journey.  Amidst  the  subse- 
quent hardships,  rough  fare  and  toils  of  that  journey, 
which,  in  truth,  thirty-five  years  ago,  were  things  not  to  be 
laughed  at,  he  had  a  constant  satisfaction  in  the  recollection 
of  having,  with  one  keen  shot,  killed  a  large,  fierce,  gray 
wolf.  f  •        «^ 


^^      '^:i.v 


/^:X 


!    ' 


CHAPTER  Vm. 


A  FUNERAL. 


The  day  fbllowing  the  call  made  by  Mr.  Norton  on 
Micah  Mummychog,  the  last-named  personage  .came  to 
Mr.  Dubois's  house  and  Adele  happening  to  open  the  out- 
side door,  just  as  he  hove  in  sight,  he  called  out,  **  Miss 
Ady,  do  ye  know  where  that  individooal  that  ye  broughv 
to  my  heouse  yisterday,  is  ?  "  ' 

"  You  mean  the  missionary  ?  "  said  Adele. 

**  Well,  yis,  I  spose  so ;  where  is  he? " 

**  He  is  engaged  with  a  sick  gentleman  we  have  here. 
He  has  taken  the  place  of  Aunt  Fatty,  who  is  tired  out  and 
has  gone  to  rest." 

**  Well,  that  piece  of  flesh,  what's  called  McNab,  has 
the  greatest  fakkilty  of  gittin'  tired  eout  when  there's  any 
work  reound,  that  ever  I  see.  Any  heow,  she 's  got  to  stir 
herself  this  time.  But  I  want  to  see  the  minister, 
neow." 

**  Yes,  I  will  speak  to  him.  But  I  shall  not  call  Aunt 
Patty.  She  is  tired  now.  I  can  take  care  of  the  sick 
gentleman.     But  what  has  happened,  Micah?" 

"Well,  there's  goin'  to  be  a  funeral.    I  can't  jestly  tell 


64 


MIllAMICIII. 


I. 


yc  abcout  it  ncow.     Ye  can  ax  ycr  sir,  when  he  comes  in,** 

said  IVIicah,  reluctant  to  go  into  particulars  which  he  knew 

would  shock  Adelc.  ^    .       ^ 

*'Wcll,  Captin,"  said  Micah,  when  Mr.  Norton  made 

his  appearance  at  the  door,  here 's  a  reg'lar  wind-fjdl  for  ye. 

Here 's  an  Irishman  over  here,  as  is  dead  as  a  door  nail. 

» 

lie 's  goin'  to  be  buried  to-night,  'beout  sunset,  and  I  dun 
no  but  what  I  can  git  a  chance  for  ye  to  hold  forth  a  spell 
in  the  grove,  jest  afore  they  put  him  under  greound." 

*'  Dead  I  the  poor  man  dead  I  indeed  1 "  ejcclaimcd  Mr. 
Norton. 

**  Yis.  He  was  shot  right  tlu*ough  his  heart,  and  I 
hope  a  swingin  *  cusa  'ill  come  on  him  that  put  the  ball 
threough,  tew." 

««Why,  how  was  it,  Mr.  Micah?"  said  Mr.  Norton 
earnestly.  . 

*<  WeU,  yeou  jest  tell 'me  fust  wether  yeou  '11  say  prayers, 
or  sometliin'  or  'nother  over  the  poor  chap's  rccliks." 

«*  Certainly,  I  will,  Mr.  Mcah."  .   ,,,t< 

"Well,  ye  see,  Pat  McGrath  lived  back  here,  half  a 
mile  or  so,  an'  he 's  got  lots  o'  cousins  an'  friends  'ut  live 
all  along  on  this  'ere  river,  more  or  less,  till  ye  git  to 
Chartham,  that^s  sitooated  to  the  mouth.  Well,  these  fel- 
lers has  been  in  the  habit  o'  gittin'  together  and  goin'  deown 
river  and  hirin'  once  in  a  spell,  some  sort  of  old,  cranky 
craft  and  goin'  skylarldng  reound  to  Eastport  and  Portland. 
Arter  a  while  they  'd  cum  back  and  smuggle  in  a  cargo  o' 
somethin'  or  'nother  from  the  States,  and  shekk  the  dooties. 
Well,  'beout  a  week  ago,  there  was  a  confounded  old  crit- 


&IIBA3IICIII. 


65 


tur  'ut  lives  halfway  from  here  to  Giartham,  that  informed 
on'  cm.  So  they  jcs'  collected  together  —  'beout  twenty 
fellers  —  and  mobbed  liim.  And  the  old  cuss  fired  into  'em 
and  killed  this  'ere  man.  So  neow  they  'vo  brought  his 
body  hum,  and  his  wife's  a  poor  shiftless  thing,  and  she's 
been  a  hollerin'  and  scrcechin'  ever  senco  she  heerd  of  it.'* 

*'  Poor  woman  I  "  said  "Mr.  Norton,  greatly  shocked. 

"Well,  I  might  as  well  tell  ycr  the  whole  on  *t,"  said 
Micah,  scratching  his  head.  *  *  Yer  sr^e,  he  was  one  o'  these 
Catholics,  this  Pat  was,  and  the  fellers  went  to  the  priest 
(he  lives  deown  river,  little  better*  ten  ro'^e  from  here)  in 
course  to  git  him  to  dew  what's  to  be  do.  v  to  the  funeral, 
and  the  tamal  old  heathen  would  n't  dew  it.  ITo  sed  Pat 
had  gone  agin  the  law  o'  the  keary.  and  he  wouldn't  hev 
anything  to  do  *  beout  it.  So  the  fellers  brought  the  body 
along,  and  I  swear,  Pat  McGrath  shall  hev  a  decent  funeral, 
any  way." 

**  "Where  is  the  funeral  to  be?'  asked  Mr.  Norton,  after 
listening  attentively  to  the  account  Micah  had  given  him.    ^ 

"01  deown  here  'n  the  grove.  The  body 's  to  my  heouse, 
and  Maggie  his  wife's  there  a  screechin'.  The  grave- 
yard's close  here,  and   o  they  did  n't  carry  him  hum." 

I'll,  go  down  and  see  tiiis  poor  Maggie,"  said  Mr.  Norton. 

*  *  Don't,  for  the  Lord's  sake.     I'm  eenermost  crazy  neow. 
The  heouse  is  jammed  full  o'  folks,  and  there  ain't  nothin, 
ready.     You  jes'  wait  here,  tiQ  I  git  things  in  shape  and. 
I  '11  cum  arter  ye." 

Micah  then  departed  to  complete  his  arrangements,  and 
Mr.  Norton  returned  to  his  post,  in  the  sick-room. 
6* 


66 


MISAMICHI. 


It  was  nearly  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  before  a 
mcssen<;er  came  to  inform  him  that  the  hour  of  burial  had 
arrived.  f        ^  -  ■'    ,,« 

A  strange  scene  presented  itself  to  his  view,  as  he  ap- 
proached the  grove.  A  motley  company,  composed  of  the 
settlers  of  every  grade  and  condition  for  miles  around,  had 
collected  there.  Men,  women,  and  children  in  various 
costume — the  scarlet  and  crimson  shirt,  or  tunic,  carrying  it 
high  above  all  other  fashions  —  were  standing,  or  walking 
among  the  trees,  conversing  upon  the  event  that  had 
brought  them  together. 

As  the  missionary  approached,  the  loud  indignant  voices 
subsided  into  a  low  murmur,  and  the  people  made  way  for 
him  to  reach  the  centre  of  the  group. 

Here  he  found  the  coffin,  placed  upon  a  pile  of  boards, 
entirely  uncovered  to  tlie  light  of  day  and  to  the  inspection 
of  the  people,  who  had^  each  in  turn,  gazed  with  curious 
eyes  upon  the  lifeless  clay  it  enclosed.  - 

In  the  absence  of  Mrs.  McNab,  who  was  still  sleeping 
away  the  effects  of  her  late  fatigues  at  the  house  of  Mr.  Du- 
bois, the  women  of  the  neighborhood  had  arrayed  Patrick 
McGrath,  very  properly,  in  a  clean  shirt  of  his  accustomed 
wearing  apparel,  so  arranging  it  that  the  folds  of  the  red 
tunic  could  be  lifted  in  order  to  expose  to  those  who  came 
to  look  upon  him  the  wound  he  had  received.  There  he 
lay,  the  rude  smuggler,  turned  gently  upon  liis  side,  one 
cheek  pressing  the  pillow.  Death  had  effaced  from  his 
countenance  every  trace  of  the  stormy  passions  which 
raged  in  liis  breast  when  the  fatal  bullet  struck  him,  and 
had  sealed  it  with  even  a  pleasant  serenity. 


AURAMICIU. 


67 


Not  so  with  the  compeers  of  his  race,  who  encircled  the 
coffin.  They  scowled  a  fierce  fury  from  beneath  their 
bushy  brows  and  muttered  vows  of  vengeance.  The  raya 
of  the  sun,  now  rapidly  declining,  shot  into  their  angry 
faces,  the  evening  breeze  shook  out  thei'.  matted  locks  of 
hair.  A  peculiar  glow  was  cast  over  their  wild,-  Erin 
features,  now  gleaming  with  unholy  passion. 

Mr.  Norton  bent  for  a  few  minutes  over  the  coffin,  while 
an  expression  of  sorrow  and  deep  commiseration  overspread 
his  countenance.  Then  he  stepped  upon  a  slight  knoll  of 
ground  near  by,  raised  himself  to  his  full  height  and 
began  to  speak  in  a  voice  that  rose  above  the  crowd,  clear^ 
melodious,  ftdl  and  penetrating  as  the  notes  of  a  bugle. 
It  thrilled  on  every  ear  and  drew  instant  attention. 

"Friends,  brethren,  fellow-sinners,  one  of  our  number 
has  been  suddenly  struck  down  by  the  relentless  hand  of 
death,  and  we  are  here  to  pay  the  last  honors  to  his  mortal 
remains,  —  each  and  all  to  learn  a  solemn  lesson  while 
standing  at  the  mouth  of  the  grave.  Brethren,  we  are  to 
learn  anew  from  this  occasion  that  death  often  comes  to  man 
with  the  suddenness  of  the  lightning  flash.  One  moment 
before  your  comrade  was  struck  by  the  fatal  bullet,  his  eye 
glowed  as  keenly  and  his  right  arm  was  as  powerful  as 
yours.  The  next  moment  he  was  prostrate  on  the  ground, 
with  no  power  to  move  a  single  limb  of  his  body,  or  utter 
a  single  sigh,  or  breathe  a  single  prayer.     He  was  dead. 

"I  am  ignorant  whether  he  was  prepared  to  make  such  a 
sudden  transit  from  this  world  to  that  scene  of  judgment  to 
which  he  has  been  summoned.     You  know,  who  were  his 


(iS 


MIRAMIOHX. 


Mends  and  comrades,  what  his  'onner  course  has  been, 
and  whether  he  was  prepared  to  meet  the  Judge  of  all  the 
earth.  I  know  nothing  of  all  this,  but  I  feryentlj  hope 
that  at  the  last  erring,  awful  moment,  when  he  had  just 
committed  an  act  of  transgression  against  the  laws  of  his 
country,  he  had  in  his  heart,  and  did,  offer  up  this  prayer, 
*  God  be  mereiM  to  me,  a  sinner.*  We  must  leave  him  in 
the  hands  of  the  Almighty,  who  is  both  merciful  and  just. 
We  cannot  change  his  lot,  but  we  have  it  in  our  power  to 
profit  by  the  circumstances  of  his  death.  Beholding  how 
suddenly  he  has  been  cut  off,  in  the  prime  and  strength  of 
his  days,  we  may  learn  that  we  too  may  be  called  at  some 
unexpected  moment,  and  that  it  behooves  us  to  be  found 
ever  in  the  right  path,  so  living,  so  acting,  that  we  shall  be 
ready,  when  death  comes,  to  meet  our  Judge  without  fear 
and  with  the  assurance  that  when  we  depart  this  life,  through 
•  the  righteousness  of  Christ,  we  shall  be  introduced  into  a 
better  and  nobler  country.  1  beg  of  you  earnestly,  my 
dear  brethren,  in  order  to  secure  this  happy  result,  to  turn 
immediately  from  your  sins,  repenting  of  them  without 
delay,  and  apply  to  Christ  whose  blood  can  alone  wash 
them  away.  Take  the  Bible,  this  precious  gift  from  Heav- 
en, for  your  counsellor  and  guide,  follow  its  instructions, 
and  you  will  be  safe  and  happy,  whether  in  life  or  in  death. 
"  My  brethren,  I  will  say  but  one  word  more ;  that  word 
I  earnestly  implore  you  to  listen  to.  This  book  from  God 
says,  vengeance  is  mine ;  I  will  repay.  I  fear  it  is  in  your 
hearts  to  seek  revenge  upon  him  who  is  the  author  of  your 
comrade's  death.    I  beseech  you  not  to  do  it.     God  knows 


inBAMom. 


69 


Ml 


•  <■; 


where  the  wrong  is,  in  this  case,  and  He,  ihe  great  Ayenger, 
will  not  suffer  it  to  go  unpunished.  Sooner  or  later  He 
brings  everj  wicked  and  wrong-doer  to  a  just  reward.  Leave 
all  in  £[is  righteous  hands,  and  stain  not  your  souls  with 
blood  and  violence.     Let  us  seek  the  divine  blessing." 

Mr.  Norton  then  offered  a  short  and  simple  prayer,  im- 
ploring the  forgiveness  of  sins,  and  blessings  upon  Patrick's 
wife,  his  companions,  and  the  community. 

Maggie,  who  had  wailed  herself  into  perfect  exhaustion 
and  almost  stupor,  sat  gazing  fixedly  in  his  face ;  the  rest 
seemed  hushed  as  by  a  spell,  and  did  not  begin  to  move 
until  some  moments  after  his  voice  ceased. 

Then  the  tongues  were  loosened,  and  amid  the  ebbs  and 
flows  of  murmuring  sound,  the  coffin  was  covered,  placed 
upon  a  bier  and  borne  to  the  grave,  followed  by  the 
crowd. 

"And  shure,"  said  a  poor  Lishwoman  to  her  crony,  as 
they  trudged  along  behind,  <<  the  praste's  voice  sounded  all 
the  while  like  a  gre§t  blessed  angel,  a  blowin'  through  a 
silver  trumpet.     Shure,  he 's  a  saint,  he  is." 


.4V    'T 


CHAPTER  IX. 

AD^LE  DUBOIS.  ' 

The  Dubois  family,  though  widely  separated  by  social 
rank  and  worldly  possessions  from  the  population  around 
them,  had  yet,  to  a  certain  degree,  mingled  freely  with  the 
people.  Originating  in  France,  they  possessed  the  pecul- 
iar national  faculty  of  readily  adapting  themselves  to  the 
manners  and  customs  of  races  foreign  to  their  own. 

It  is  impossible  to  forget  in  the  early  history  of  the  North 
American  colonies,  what  facility  the  French  displayed,  in 
contrast  with  the  English,  in  attaining  communication  with 
the  children  of  the  forest,  in  acquirifig  and  retaining  their 
confidence,  in  taking  on  their  rude  and  uncultivated  modes 
of  life,  and  in  shaping  even  their  superstitions  to  their  own 
selfish  purposes.  ' 

Of  all  the  foreigners  who  have  attempted  to  demonstrate 
to  the  world,  the  social  and  political  problems  of  America, 
who  has  investigated  with  such  insight,  and  developed  so 
truly  our  manners  and  customs  and  the  spirit  and  genius  of 
our  government  as  Tocqueville  ? 

Mr.  Dubois,  though  possessing  a  conservative  power  that 
prevented  him  from  descending  to  the  low  type  of  character 


MIKAHIOHL 


71 


and  the  lax  principles  of  the  countiy,  yet  never  made  any 
other  than  the  most  quiet  assertion  of  superiority.  It  was 
impossible  indeed  for  him  to  hold  business  connections  with 
the  rough  settlers  without  mingling  freely  with  them.  But 
he  never  assumed  the  air  of  a  master.  He  frequently  en- 
gaged with  them  in  bold,  adventurous  exploits,  the  accom- 
plishment of  which  did  not  involve  an  infringement  of  law ; 
sometimes  he  put  hand  and  shoulder  to  the  hdrd  labors  they 
endured,  and  he  was  ever  ready  with  his  sympathy  and  aid 
in  rediessing  their  grievances.  Though  often  shocked  at 
their  lawless  and  profane  customs,  he  yet  recognized  in 
many  of  them  traits  of  generosity  and  nobleness. 

Without  a  particle  of  aggressiveness  in  his  disposition, 
he  had  never  undertaken  actively  the  work  of  reform,  yet 
his  example  of  uprightness  and  integrity  had  made  an  im- 
pression upon  the  community.  The  people  treated  him  with 
uhvarjdng  respect  and  confidence,  partly  from  a  «ense  of 
I  his  real  superiority,  and  partly,  perhaps,  from  the  very  lack 
[of  self-assertion  on  his  side.  Consequently  without  having 
made  the  least  effort  to  do  so,  he  exercised  an  autocratio 
[power  among  them.  -^     ;-.<   ,-  v,,, 

Mrs.  Dubois  visited  the  women  of  the  place  frequently, 

[particularly  when  the  men  were  absent  in  their  lumbering, 

jpr  fishing  operations,  conversing  with  them  freely,  bearing 

)atiently  their  superstitions  and  ignorance,  aiding  them  lib- 

srally  in  temporal  things,  and  sometimes  mingling  kindly 

rords  of  counsel  with  her  gifts. 

Adele's  intercourse  with  the  settlers  was  in  an  altogether 
Lifierent  ^tyle.    Her  maimer  from  earliest  childhood,  when 


v\ 


72 


MIRAMICm. 


she  first  bcgau  to  run  about  from  one  cottage  to  another, 
had  toon  free,  frank,  and  impenoiia.  "Wh^th«:.  it  was,  that 
having  sniffed  from  babyhood  tb,e  fr  fli  forest  air  of  the  new 
world,  its  breath  had  in>«pire^  her  wit'i  a  ;areh*t?.  indepen- 
dence not  shared  hy  her  jmrent  • ,  or,  whether  the  haughty 
blood  that  had  flowed  far  bnck  in  the  veins  of  ancestors, 
after  coiirciag  quietly  along  the  generatioios,  had  m  her  be- 
come stimulate  into  new  aetxviijf  certain  :t  m,  she  had  al- 
W{>y8  the  bearing  of  one  haying  autho  ^  v  and  the  art  of 
governing  seemed  natural  to  her,  it  was  strange,  therefore, 
sJiat  she  should  have  been  such  a  universal  favorite  in  the 
neigliborhood.  But  so  it  was..  Those  who  habitually  set 
public  law  at  defiance,  came  readily  under  the  control  of  her 
youthful  sway. 

Possessing  a  full  share  of  the  irrepressible  activity  of 
childhood,  she  enacted  the  part  of   lady  of  the  Manor, 
assuming  prerogatives  that  even  her  mother  did  not  think 
of  exercising.  "  '  ' 

When  about  eleven  summers  old,  she  opened  one  after- 
noon the  door  of  an  Irish  cabin  and  received  at  once  a  cor- 
dial, noisy  welcome  from  its  inmates.  She  did  not  howeve, 
make  an  immediate  response,  for  she  had  begun  taking  a 
minute  survey  of  the  not  over-nice  premispy.  At  lengthr. 
slie  deigned  to  speak. 

**  Bridget  Malone,  are  you  not  £  shamed  to  have  such  a 
disorderly  house  as  this  ?  Why  don't  you  sweep  the  floor 
and  put  things  in  place  ?  "  . 

*'  Och  I  hinny,  and  how  can  T  swape  the  floor  without  a 
tjTun?"  said  Bridget,  looking  up  in  some  disnL'y. 


MTRAMTCHI* 


73 


another, 
was,  that 
the  new 
indepen- 
1  haughty 
ancestors, 
in  her  be- 
lie had  al- 
he  art  of 
therefore, 
rite  in  the 
itually  set 
;rol  of  her 

ictivity  of 

e  Manor, 

not  think 

one  after- 
>nce  a  cor- 
)t  howeve, 
taking  a 
A.t  lengthr. 

ive  such  a 
the  floor 

without  9, 


"Didn't  my  father  order  James  to  give  you  a  broom 
whenever  you  want  one?  Here  Pat,"  said  she,  to  a  ragged 
urchin  about  her  own  ag^,  who  was  tumbling  about  over 
the  floor  with  a  little  dirty-faced  baby,  *'here,  take  this 
jack-knife  and  go  down  to  the  river  by  Mrs.  Campbell's 
new  house  and  cut  some  hemlock  boughs.  Be  quick,  and 
bring  them  back  as  fast  as  you  can."     Pat  started  at  once. 

Adele  then  deliberately  took  off  her  bonnet  and  shawl, 
rolled  them  up  into  as  small  a  package  as  she  could  make, 
and  placed  them  on  the  nearest  approximation  to  a  clean 
spot  that  could  be  found.  Then  she  stooped  down,  took 
the  baby  from  the  floor  and  handed  him  to  his  mother. 

**Here,  Bridget,  take  Johnny,  wash  his  face  and  put 
him  on  a  clean  dress.  I  know  he  has  another  dress  and 
it  ought  to  be  clean."     •  ..     -;      / 

*' Yes.  He  's  got  one  you  gave  him,  Miss  Ady,  but  it 
aint  clane  at  all.   Shure  it 's  time  to  wash  T m  wanting,  it  is." 

"Kow,  don't  tell  me,  Bridget,  that  you  have  not  time  to 
wash  your  children's  clothes  and  keep  them  decent.  You 
need  not  spend  so  many  hours  smoking  your  pipe  over  the 
ashes." 

*'  You  would  n't  deprive  a  poor  cratur  of  all  the  comfort 
she  has  in  the  world,  would  ye,  hinny?" 

"  You  ought  to  take  comfort  in  keeping  your  house  and 
children  clean,  Bridget." 

In  the  meanwhile,  Bridget  had  washed  Johnny's  face, 
and  there  being  no  clean  dress  ready  for  the  little  feUow, 
Adele  said,   "Come,  Bridget,  put  on  a  kettle  of  water, 
pick  up  your  clothes,  and  do  your  washing." 
7 


74 


MIRAMIOHI. 


**  Shure,  and  I  will,  if  ye  say  so,  Miss  Ady.** 
The  poor  shiftless  thing  having  placed  the  baby  on  the 
floor  again,  began  to  stir  about  and  make  ready. 

Adele  sat  poking  and  turning  over  the  chubby  little 
Johnny  with  her  foot. 

At  last,  Pat  appeared  with  a  moderate  q^ntity  of 
hemlock  boughs,  which  Adele  told  him  to  throw  upon  the 
floor,  —  then  to  hand  her  the  knife  and  sit  down  by  her 
side  and  learn  to  make  a  broom.  She  selected,  clipped, 
and  laid  together  the  boughs,  until  sho  had  made  quite  a 
pile ;  sent  Pat  for  a  strong  piece  of  twine  and  an  old  broom 
handle  and  then  secured  the  boughs  firmly  upon  it. 

**  Now  Pat,"  she  said,  **  here  is  a  nice,  new  jack-knife. 
•  If  you  will  promise  me  that  you  will  cut  boughs  and  make 
your  mother  two  new  brooms,  just  like  this,  every  week, 
the  knife  shall  be  yours." 

Pat,  with  eyes  that  stood  out  an  umnenticnable  distance, 
and  mouth  stretched  from  ear  to  ear,  promised,  and  Adele 
proceeded  vigorously  to  sweep  the  apartment.  In  the 
course  of  half  an  hour,  the  room  wore  a  wholly  different 
aspect. 

**  And  who  tould  the  like  of  ye,  how  to  make  a  brum 
like  that,  hinny?"  said  Bridget,  looking  on  in  admiration 
of  her  skill. 

"Nobody  told  me.  I  saw  Aunt  Patty  McNab  do  it 
once.  You  see  it  is  easy  to  do.  Now,  Bridget,  remember. 
Have  your  house  clean  after  this,  or  I  will  not  come  to  see 
you." 

*«  Yes,  shure,  I'll  have  them  blessed  brums  as  long,'s 
there 's  a  tree  grows." 


%.  • 


^.. 


MCBAMIOHI. 


75 


iome  to  see 


And  true  it  was,  thai  Adfele's  threat  not  to  visit  her 
cabin  proved  such  a  salutary  terror  to  poor  Bridget,  that 
there  was  a  perceptible  improvement  in  her  domestic 
arrangements  ever  aft^^r. 

As  Adfele  grew  olaer,  the  ascendency  she  had  obtained 
in  her  obscure  empire  daily  increased.  At  twelve,  she 
was  sent  to  a  convent  at  Halifax,  where  she  remained 
three  years.  At  the  end  of  that  period,  she  returned  to 
Miramichi,  and  resumed  at  once  her  regal  sceptre.  The 
sway  she  held  over  the  people  was  really  one  of  love, 
grounded  on  a  recognition  of  her  superiority. .  Circulating 
among  them  freely,  she  became  thoroughly  acquainted 
with  their  habits  and  modes  of  living,  and  she  was  ever 
ready  to  aid  them,  under  their  outward  wants  and  their 
deeper  heart  troubles.  A  community  must  have  some  one 
to  look  up  to,  whether  co.iscious  of  the  want  or  not. 
Hero-worship  is  na^firal  to  the  human  soui,  and  the  miscel- 
laneous group  of  -ji  omen  and  children  scattered  over  the 
settlement,  found  in  Adele  a  strong,  joyous,  self-relying 
spirit,  able  to  hel|>  them  out  of  their  difficulties,  who  could 
I  cheer  them  when  down-hearted,  and  spur  them  up  when 
getting  discouraged  or  inefficient. 

But,  added  to  this  were  the  charms  of  her  youthful 
beauty,  which  even  the  humblest  felt,  without  perhaps 
knowing  it,  and  an  air  of  authority  that  swept  away  all 
'opposition,  and  held,  at  times,  even  Aunt  Patty  McNab  at 
arms'  length.  Yes,  it  must  be  confessed  that  the  young 
lady  was  in  the  habit  of  queening  it  over  the  people ;  but 
ithey  were  perfectly  wilHng  to  have  it  so,  and  both  lo^ed 
and  were  proud  of  their  little  despot. 


76 


MIBAMIOm. 


In  the  mean  time,  the  Dubois  family  were  living  a  life 
witbih  a  life,  to  the  locale  of  which  the  reader  must  now  be 
iiitrotluccd.  * 

It  has  been  said  that  the  outward  aspect  of  their  dwell- 
ing was  respectable,  and  in  that  regard  was  not  greatly  at 
variance,  except  in  siz^,  with  the  sup-Ou'iiding  habitations. 
Within,  hoi/ever,  there  were  apartments  furnished  and 
adorned  in  such  a  manner  as  to  betoken  the  character  and 
tastes  of  the  inmates. 

In  the  oecond  story,  directly  over  the  spacious  dining- 
room  already  described,  there  was  a  long  apartment  with 
two  windows  reaching  nearly  to  the  floor.  It  was  carpeted 
with  crimson  and  black  Brussels,  contained  two  sofas  of 
French  workmanship,  made  in  a  heavy,  though  rich  style, 
covered  with  cloth  also  of  crimscii  and  black ;  with  chairs 
fashioned  and  carved  to  match  tho  couches,  and  finished  in 
the  same  material.  A  quaint-loOking  piano  stood  in  one 
comer  of  the  room.  In  the  centre  was  a  Chinese  lacquered 
table  on  which  stood  a  lamp  in  bronze,  the  bowl  of  which 
was  supported  by  various  broadly  smiling,  grotesque  crea- 
tures, belonging  to  a  genus  known  only  in  the  domain  of 
fable. 

On  the  evening  following  the  burial  of  poor  Pat  Mc- 
Grath,  Mrs.  Dubois  sat  in  this  apartment,  engaged  in 
embroidering  a  fancy  piece  of  dress  for  Adele.  That 
young  lady  was  reclining  upon  a  sofa,  and  was  looking 
earnestly  at  a  painting  of  the  Madonna,  a  copy  from  some 
old  master,  hanging  nearly  opposite  to  her.  It  was  now 
bathed  in  the  yellow  moonlight,  which  heightened  the  won- 


•    MIUAMIC'III. 


77 


derfiiUy  saintly  expression  in  the  countenances  of  the  holy 
mother  and  child. 

**  See !  ma  bonne  mere,  the  blessed  !Marie  looks  down  on 
us  with  a  sweet  smile  to-night." 

**  She  always  looks  kindly  upon  us,  chcrc^  when  we  try 
to  do  right,"  said  Mrs.  Dubois,  smiling.  **  Doubtless  you 
have  tried  to  be  good  to-day  and  she  approves  your  effort." 

"  Now,  just  tell  me,  ina  chere  mire^  how  she  would  re- 
gard me  to-night  if  I  had  committed  one  wicked  deed 
to-day." 

*<  This  same  Marie  looks  sad  and  wistful  sometimes,  my 
Adile." 

*  *  True.  But  not  particularly  at  such  times.  It  depent!  - 
on  which  side  the  light  strikes  the  picture,  whether  she  looks 
sad  or  smiling.  Just  that,  and  nothing  more.  Now  the 
moonlight  gives  her  a  smiling  expression.  And  please 
listen,  chere  mere.  I  have  heard  that  there  is,  somewhere, 
a  Madonna,  into  whose  countenance  the  old  painter  en- 
deavored to  throw  an  air  of  profoundest  repose.  He  suc- 
ceeded. I  have  heard  that  that  picture  has  a  strange 
power  to  soothe.  Gazing  upon  it  the  spirit  grows  calm 
and  the  voice  unconsciously  sinkf^  into  a  whisper.  Our 
priests  would  tell  the  common  people  that  it  is  a  rairacul<3us 

« 

influence  exerted  upon  them  I>y  the  Virgin  herself,  where- 
as it  is  only  the  effect  produced  by  the  exquisite  skill  of  the 
artist.     Ehy  bien  !  our  church  is  Ml  of  superstitions." 

**  We  will- talk  no  more  of  it,  vnajille.  You  do  not  love 
the  holy  Marie  as  you  ought,  I  fear."     . 

*<  Love  her  I  indeed  I  do.  She  is  the  most  blest  and 
7» 


v\ 


78 


MIR^MIOHI. 


1   ! 


honored  among  women, — the  mother  of  the  Saviou*.  But 
why  should  we  pray  to  her,  when  Jesus  is  the  only  inter- 
cessor for  our  sins  with  the  Father?  Why,  ma  diire 
mire?" 

**Helcu  !  majille.  You  learned  to  slight  the  intercession 
of  the  holy  saints  while  you  were  at  the  convent.  It  is 
strange.     I  thought  I  could  trust  you  there." 

"Do  not  think  it  the  fault  of  the  sisters,  cMre  mire. 
They  did  their  duty.  This  way  of  thinking  came  to  me.  I 
did  not  seek  it,  indeed." 

"How  did  it  come  to  you,  ma  pauvrejille ? " 

**  I  will  tell  you.  The  first  time  I  went  into  the  convent 
parlor,  Sister  Adrienne,  thinking  to  amuse  me,  took  me 
around  the  room  and  showed  me  its  ciu-iosities.  But  I  was 
filled  with  an  infinite  disgust.  I  did  not  distinctly  know 
then  why  I  was  so  sickened,  hut  I  understand  it  all  now." 

**  What  did  you  see,  Adele?" 

**  Eh  I  those  horrid  relics  of  saints, — "those  teeth,  those 
bones,  those  locks  of  hair  in  the  cabinet.  Then  that  awful 
skeleton  of  sister  Agnes,  who  founded  the  convent  and  was 
the  first  Abbess,  covered  with  wax  and  preserved  in  a 
crystal  case  I  I  thought  I  was  in  some  charnel-house.  I 
could  hardly  breathe.  Do  you  like  such  parlor  ornaments 
as  those,  ma  cAere  me/'eP"        ^     < 

"Not  quite." 

"What  do  we  want  of  the  dry  bones  of  the  saints, 
when  we  have  memoirs  of  their  precious  lives?  They 
would  themselves  spurn  the  superstition  that  consecrates 
mere  earthly  dust.    It  nauseates  me  to  think  of  it." 


MIKAHICm. 


70 


**  Procedez,  tnaJiUe.** 

**  My  friend  from  the  States,  Mabel  Barton,  came  to 
the  convent,  the  day  I  arrived.  As  our  studies  were  the 
same,  and  as,  at  first,  we  were  both  homesick,  the  sisters 
permitted  us  to  be  together  much  of  the  time.  Eh  !  bien  ! 
I  read  her  T)ooks,  her  Bible,  and  so  light  dawned.  She 
used  to  pray  to  the  Father,  through  the  Redeemer.  I 
liked  that  way  best.  But  ma  merCy  our  cathedral  service  is 
sublime.  There  is  nothing  like  thtit.  Now  you  will  for- 
give me.  The  arches,  the  altar,  the  incense,  the  glorious 
surging  waves  of  music ,  —  these  raised  me  and  Mabel,  like- 
wise, up  to  the  lofty  third  heaven.  How  high,  how  holy 
we  felt,  when  we  worshipped  there.  Because  I  like  the 
cathedral,  you  will  forgive  me  for  all  I  said  before,  —will 
you  not,  ma  chere  mere  ?  " 

Turning  her  head  suddenly  towards  her  mother,  Adele 
saw  her  eyes  filled  with  tears.      '  i-' 

**Eh!ma  chere  mere,  pardonnez  moi.  I  have  pained 
you."  And  she  rose  and  flung  her  arms,  passionately, 
around  her  mother's  neck.  * 

**  Pauvrefille!"  said  the  mother,  returning  her  embrace 
mournfully, "  you  will  wander  away  from  the  church,  — 
our  holy  church.  It  would  not  have  been  thus,  had  we 
remained  in  sunny  Picardj.     Eh!  oublierje  nepuis" 

**  What  is  it,  chere  mere"  said  Adele,  "  that  you  cannot 
forget  ?  There  is  something  I  have  long  wished  to  know. 
What  was  there,  before  you  came  here  to  live  ?.  Why  do 
you  sometimes  sit  and  look  so  thoughtful,  so  sad  and  wish- 
ful?   Tell  me, — tell  me,  that  I  may  comfort  you." 


.  '■ 


80 


MIRAMICm. 


«*  I  wiU  tell  you  all,  Adele,  yes, —all.     It  is  time  for 
you  to  know,  but  —  not  to-night — not  to-night." 
*<  To-morrow  then,  ma  ffieVc?"  , 

*' Yes.  Yes — to-morrow." 


a 


CHAPTER  X. 


PICARDY.  ^ 

«  Weep  ye  not  for  the  dead,  neither  bemoan  him :  but 
weep  sore,  for  him  that  goeth  away :  for  he  shaJl  return  no 
more,  nor  see  his  native  country."  The  prophet,  who 
wrote  these  words,  well  knew  the  exile's  grief.  He  was 
himself  an  exile »  He  thought  of  Jerusalem,  the  city  of 
his  home,  his  love,  and  his  heart  was  near  to  breaking. 
He  hung  his  harp  upon  the  willow ;  he  sat  down  by  the 
streams  of  Babylon  and  wept. 

The  terrible  malady  of  homesickness,  —  it  hss  eaten  out 
the  vigor  and  beauty  of  many  a  life.  The  soul,  alien  to 
all  around,  forlorn  amid  the  most  enchanting  scenes,  filled 
with  cejiseless  longing  for  a  renewal  of  past  delights,  can 
never  find  a  remedy,  until  it  is  transplanted  back  to  its 
nf.tive  clime. 

Nof  was  the  prophet  singular  in  his  experience  of  the 
woes  of  exile.  We  have  heard  of  the  lofty-spirited  Dante, 
wandering  from  city  to  city,  carrying  with  Iiim,  in  banish- 
ment, irrepressible  and  unsatisfied  yearnings  for  his  beloved 
Florence ;  we  have  seen  the  Greek  Islander,  borne  a  cap- 
tive from  home,  sighing,  iu  vain,  for  the  dash  and  roar  of 
his  familiar'  seas ;  we  have  seen  the  Switzer,  transplanted 


8^ 


MUtAMICHI. 


to  milder  climes  and  more  radiant  skies,  yet  longing  for 
the  stem  mountain  forms,  the  breezes  and  echoes  of  his 
native  land.  Ah  I  who  does  not  remember,  with  a  shud- 
der, the  despairing  thoughts,  choking  tears,  and  days  of 
silent  misery  that  clouded  his  own  boyhood,  and  perhaps 
even  iome  days  of  his  early  manhood? 

Oublier  je  ne  puis.  Poor  lady  I  she  had  been  homesick 
twenty  years. 

On  the  afternoon  following  the  couversatiou  recorded  in 
the  last  chapter,  Mrs.  Dubois  was  ready  to  unfold  to  Adele 
the  story  of'  her  past  life.  They  were  sitting  in  the  parlor. 
The  golden  glory  of  the  September  sun  gave  an  intense 
hue  to  the  crimson  furniture,  lighted  up  the  face  of  the 
Madonna  with  a  new  radiance,  and  touched  the  ivory  keys 
of  the  piano  with  a  fresh  polish.  Adele's  eyes  were  fixed 
with  eager  expectation  upon  her  mother. 

**  You  know,  ma  chercj "  Mrs.  Dubois  began,  **  we  once 
lived  in  France.  But  you  cannot  know,  I  trust  you  never 
may,  what  it  cost  us  to  leave  our  beautiful  Picardy,  — what 
we  have  suffered  in  remaining  here,  exiled  in  this  rude 
country.  Yet  then  it  seemed  our  best  course.  Indeed, 
we  thought  there  was  no  other  path  for  us  so  good  as  this. 
We  were  young,  and  did  not  eujugh  consider,  perhaps, 
what  such  a  change.in  our  life  involved.  I  must  tell  you, 
my  Adele,  how  it  came  about. 

In  the  province  of  Picardy  not  many  miles  from  the  city 
of  Amiens,  there  was  a  fine,  but  nc«  large  estate,  border- 
ing on  the  River  Somme.  A  long  avenue  of  poplars  led 
from  the  main  road  up  a  gentle  slope  unti*  it  opened  upon 


MTRAMTOHI. 


83 


a  broad,  green  plateau  of  grass,  studded  with  giant  trees, 
the  growth  of  centuries.  Here  and  t^«!re  were  trim  little 
flower-beds,  laid  out  in  a  variety  of  tb  tast  shapes,  with 
stiff,  glossy,  green,  closely-clipped  borders  oi  box.  And, 
what  was  my  childish  admiration  and  delight,  there  was  a 
fountain  that  poured  itself  out  in  oozing,  dripping  drops 
from  the  flowing  hair  and  finger  tips  of  a  marble  Venus, 
just  rising  in  the  immense  basin  and  wringing  out  her  locks. 
Then  the  park, — there  was  none  more  beautiful,  more 
stately,  extending  far  back  to  the  banks  of  the  Somme, 
where  birds  sat  on  every  bough  and  the  nightingale  seemed 
to  pour  its  very  heart  away,  singing  so  thrillingly  and  so 
long.  I  hear  the  liquid  notes  now,  my  Adele,  so  tender, 
so  sweet  1  A.t  the  end  of  the  avenue  of  poplars  of  which 
I  spoke  stood  the  chateau,  with  the  trim  flower-beds  in 
front.  It  was  built  of  brown  stone,  not  much  ornamented 
externally,  with  four  round  towers,  one  in  each  comer. 
Though  not  as  old  as  some  of  those  castles,  it  had  been 
reared  several  centuries  Ve,  by  a  Count  de  Rossillon, 
who  owned  the  estate  and  lived  on  it.       ,  #. 

In  that  chateau,  I  first  saw  the  light  of  day,  and  there  I 
spent  my  happy  childhood  and  youth. 

The  estate  of  Ro-^slllon  had  been  bequeathed  by  the  will 
of  my  grandfather,  to  his  two  sons.  The  elder,  the  present 
Count  de  Rossillon,  inherited  the  larger  portion ;  my  father, 
the  younger  son,  the  smaller  share. 

My  father  was  a  Bonapartist,  and  at  the  time  of  his 
marriage  held  a  high  rank  in  the  anny.  During  his  ab- 
8en>  '^  from  the  country,  my  mother  resided  at  the  chateau 
with  her  brother-in-law,  the  Count. 


84 


MIRAMICm. 


One  day  in  June,  news  arrived  of  the  sudden  death  of 
my  father.  It  was  communicated  to  my  mother,  by  the 
messenger  who  brought  it,  without  precaution.  That 
night,  one  hour  after,  I  was  ushered  into  an  orphaned 
existence  and  my  mother  took  her  departure  from  the 
world.  Think  of  nie  Adele,  thus  thrown  a  waif  upon  the 
shore  of  life.  Yet,  though  bom  in  the  shadow  of  a  great 
sorrow,  sunlight  struck  across  my  path. 

The  faithful  honncj  who  had  taken  care  of  my  mother  in 
her  infancy  and  had  never  left  her,  now  took  charge 
of  me.  She  watched  over  me*  faithfully  and  filled  up  my 
childhood  with  affectionate  attention  and  innocent  pastime. 
My  uncle,  the  Count,  who  had  never  been  married,  loved, 
petted,  and  indulged  me  in  every  wish.  When  1  grew  old 
enough,  he  secured  a  governess  well  qualified  to  teach  and 
discipline  me.  Under  her  care,  with  the  aid  of  masters 
in  Latin,  music,  and  drawing,  from  Amiens,  I  went 
through  the  course  of  instruction  considered  necessary  for 
ycung  ladies  at  that  time 

I  was  at  your  Age  my  Ad  Me  when  I  first  met  your  father. 
He  was  not  the  bronzed  and  careworn  man  you  see  him  nf^w. 
Ah  I  no.  He  was  young  and  gay,  with  a  falcon  glance  and 
black  wreathing  locks  hanging  over  his  white,  smooth 
brow.  His  father  was  of  noble  blood,  and  sympathized 
warmly  with  the  dethroned  Bourbons.  He  was  no  lovei 
of  the  great  Consul.  The  political  troubles  in  France  had 
operated  in  ways  greatly  to  impoverish  his  house. 

"He  owned  and  occupied  only  the  remnant  of  what  had 
been  a  large  estate,  adjoining  that  of  the  Coimt  de  Ros- 
sUlon. 


MIBAMIOHI. 


05 


While  acquiring  hia  education,  your  father,  except  at 
occasional  intervals,  was  six  years  from  home,  and  it  so 
happened  that  I  never  met  him  in  my  childhood.  Indeed, 
the  families  were  not  on  terms  of  intimacy.  On  his  return 
from  the  University,  I  first  saw  him.  Eh!  him!  It  is  the 
same  old  story  that  you  have  heard  and  r^^ad  of,  in  your 
books,  my  Adele.  We  became  acquainted,  I  wUl  not  stop 
now,  to  tell  you  how,  and  soon  learned  to  love  each  other. 
Time  passed  on,  and  at  last  your  father  sought  the  consent 
of  ray  uncle,  to  our  marriage.  But  he  put  aside  the  prop- 
osition with  anger  and  scorn.  He  thought  that  Claude 
Dubois  was  neither  distinguished  nor  rich  enough  to  match 
his  niece.  In  his  heart,  he  had  reserved  me  for  some  con- 
spicuous position  in  the  great  circle  at  Paris,  while  I  had 
given  myself  to  an  obscure  youth  in  Picardy.  . 

Your  father  was  too  honorable  to  ask  me  to  marry  him 
without  the  consent  of  the  Count,  and  tqo  proud  to  take  me 
in  his  poverty.  So  one  day,  after  his  stormy  interview 
with  my  uncle,  he  came  to  me  and  said  ho  v/as  going  away 
to  endeavor  to  get  fame,  or  wealth,  to  bestow  upon  me  and 
make  himself  more  worthy  in  the  eyes  of  the  Count  de 
Rossillon.  Yet  be  wished  to  release  me  from  any  feeling 
of  obligation  to  hiui,  as,  he  said,  I  was  too  young  and 
had  too  little  acquaintance  with  life  and  society  to  know 
fully  my  own  heart.  It  would  not  be  ri?-ht,  he  thought, 
to  bind  me  to  himself  by  any  promise.  I  told  himm;'-  affec- 
tion for  him  would  never  change,  but  acquiesced  in  his 
arrangements  with  a  sad  and  foreboding  heart.  In  a  few 
weeks,  he  embarked  for  India.  ^» 


86 


MIRAMICHI. 


i 


'f 


Then  my  uncle  roused  himself  from  the  inertia  of  his 
quiet  habits  and  made  arrangements  for  a  journey  through 
France  and  Italy,  which  he  said  I  was  to  take  with  him. 

I  received  the  announcement  with  indifference,  being 
wholly  occupied  with  grief  at  the  bitter  separation  from 
your  father.  The  change  4iowever  proved  salutary,  and, 
in  a  week  after  our  departure,  I  felt  hope  once  more  dawn- 
ing in  my  heart.  "  '  ' 

The  countrjr  through  wlilch  we  travelled  was  sunny  and 
beautiful,  veined  with  sparkling  streams,  shadowed  by  for- 
ests, studded  with  the  olive  and  m«ilberry,  and  with  vines 
bearing  the  luscious  grape  for  tlie  vintage.  The  constant 
change  of  scenckand  the  daily  renewal  of  objects  of  inter- 
est and  novelty,  combined  with  the  elasticity  of  youth, 
brought  back  some  degree  of  my  former  buoyancy  and 
gayety.  My  uncle  was  so  evidently  delighted  with  the 
return  of  my  old  cheerfulness,  and  exerted  himself  so  much 
to  Jieighten  it  in  every  way,  that  I  knew  he  sincerely  loved 
me,  and  was  doing  what  he  really  thought  would  in  the  end 
contribute  to  my  happiness.  He  judged  that  my  affec- 
tion for  your  father  was  a  transient,  youthful  dream,  and 
would  soon  be  forgotten ;  he  fancied,  no  doubt,  I  was  even 
then  beginning  to  wake  up  from  it.  He  wished  to  pre- 
vent me  from  forming  an  early  and  what  he  considered  an 
imprudent  marriage,  which  I  might  one  day  regret,  im- 
availingly. 

And  it  proved  to  be  all  right,  my  Adele.  Your  father 
and  I  were  both  young,  and  the  course  the  Count  de  Ros- 
sillon  took  with  us,  was  a  good  though  severe  test  of  our 


MIRAMICHI. 


87 


junny  and 
id  by  for- 
idth  vines 
constant 
of  inter- 
of  youth, 
'•ancy  and 
with  the 
f  so  much 
rely  loved 
n  the  end 
my  afFec- 
eam,  and 
was  even 
d  to  pre- 
idered  an 
gret,  un- 

V 

)ur  father 

t  de  Ros- 

st  of  our 


affection.  In  the  meanwhile,  I  was  secretly  sustained  by 
the  hope  that  your  father's  efforts  would  be  crowned  with 
success,  i^nd  that,  after  a  few  years,  he  would  return  and  my 
uncle,  having  found,  that  nothing  could  draw  me  from  my 
attachment  to  him,  would  out  of  liis  own  love  for  me  and 
consideration  for  my  happiness,  at  last  consent  to  our 
union. 

We  crossed  the  Alps  and  went  into  Italy.     Here  a  new 
world  was  opened  to  me, —  a  world  of  beauty  and  art.     It 
bestowed  upon  me  many  hours  of  exquisite  enjoyment. 
The  Count  travelled  with  his  own  carriage  and  servants, 
and  we  lingered  wherever  I  felt  a  desire  to  pifolong  my 
observations.     He  purchased  a  collection  of  pictures,  stat- 
ues, and  other  gems  and  curiosities  of  art.    Among  the  rest, 
the  Madonna  there,  my  Adelo,  which  he  presented  to  me, 
because  I  so  much  liked  it.     But  I  must  not  linger  now. 
Or?  our  return  to  France,  we  spent  a  month  at  Paris,  and 
:  there,  though  too  young  to  be  introduced  into  society,  I  met 
[in  private  many  distinguished  and  fasliionable  people,  who 
!  were  friends  of  the  Count.  « 

We  were  absent  from  the  chateau  one  year.  It  was 
Ipleasant  to  get  back  to  the  dear  old  place,  where  I  had 
s  spent  such  a  happy  childhood,  the  scene  too  of  so  many 
[precious  interviews  with  your  beloved  father.  We  re- 
fturned  again  to  our  former  life  of  quiet  ease,  enlivened  at 
frequent  intervals  by  the  visits  of  guests  from  abroad  and 
[by  those  of  friends  and  acquaintances  among  the  neigh- 
[  boring  nobility.  Though  I  received  no  tidings  from  your 
[father,  a  secret  hope  still  sustained  me.     A  few  times  only. 


If, 


88 


MIKA&nCHI. 


I*!'  \ 

L        i 

h     ■ ' 


dirnng  the  firat  three  years  of  his  absence,  did  I  lose  my 
cheerfulness.  Those  were,  when  some  lover  pressed  hie 
suit  and  I  knew  that  in  repelling  it,  I  was  upsettiro-  ao..>e 
cherished  scheme  of  my  uncle.  But  I  will  Jo  him  the  jus- 
tice to  say  that  he  bore  it  patiently,  and,  only  at  Ion 7 
intervals,  gave  vent  to  his  vexation  and  disappointment. 

It  was  when  my  hope  concerning  your  father's  return 
began  to  fail,  and  anxiety  respecting  his  fate  began  to  be 
indulged  in  its  stead,  that  my  spirits  gave  way.  At  the 
close  of  the  fourth  year  of  his  absence,  my  peace  was 
wholly  gone  and  my  days  were  spent  in  the  restless  agony 
of  suspense.  My  health  was  rapidly  failing,  and  my  imcle 
who  knew  the  caute  of  my  prostration,  instead  of  consult- 
ing a  physician,  in  the  kindness  of  his  heart,  took  me  to 
Paris.  But  the  gayeties  to  which  I  was  there  introduced 
were  distasteful  to  me.  I  grew  every  moment  more  sad. 
Just  when  my  uncle  was  in  despair,  I  was  introduced 
accidentally  to  the  Countess  de  Morny,  a  lovely  lady,  who 
had  lost  her  husband  and  three  children,  and  had  passed 
through  much  sorrow. 

Gradually,  she  drew  me  to  her  heart  and  I  told  her  all 
my  grief.  She  dealt  very  tenderly  with  me,  my  Adele. 
She  did  not  seek  to  cheer  me  by  inspiring  fresh  hopes  of 
your  father's  return.  No.  She  told  me,  I  might  never 
be  Claude  Dubois's  happy  bride,  but  that  I  might  be  the 
blessed  bride  of  Jesus.  In  short,  she  led  me  gently  into 
the  consolations  of  our  Holy  Church.  Under  her  influ- 
ence and  guidance  I  came  into  a  state  of  sweet  resignation 
to  the  divine  will,  —  a  peaceful  rest  indeed,  after  the  ter- 


m 


MIRAMICHI. 


89 


rible  alternations  of  suspense  and  despair  I  had  suffered. 
But,  my  Adile,  it  was  only  by  constant  prayers  to  the 
bless^l  Marie  that  my  soul  was  kept  from  lapsing  into  its 
former  state  of  dreadful  unrest.  Ma  chere  Adele,  you 
know  not  what  you  do,  when  you  speak  slightingly  of  our 
Holy  Church.  I  should  then  have -died,  had  I  not  found 
rest  in  my  prayers  to  the  blessed  mother.  Now,  you  are 
young  and  gay,  but  the  world  is  full  of  sorrow.  It  nuay 
overtake  you  r.**  it  did  me.  Then  you  will  need  a  hope,  a 
consolation,  a  refuge.  There  is  no  peace  like  that  found 
at  the  foot  of  the  cross,  imploring  the  intercession  of  the 
compassionate,  loving  Marie.  Do  not  wander  away  from 
the  sweet  eyes  of  the  mother  of  Christ,  mafilleJ'* 

Here  Mrs.  Dubois  ceased  speaking,  and  turned  a  tear- 
ful, affectionate  gaze  upon  her  daughter.  Adele's  eyes, 
that  had  been  fixed  upcn  her  mother  with  earnest,  absorbed 
attention,  filled  with  tears,  instantly. 

*^  Ma  chere  mere,  I  would  not  make  you  unhappy.  I 
will  try  not  to  gi»'o  you  pain.  Please  go  on  and  teU  me 
all."  ' 

* '  Eh  !  Men  !  ma  chere,  my  uncle  was  pleased  to  see  me 
becoming  more  peaceful.  Finding  I  was  not  attracted  by 
the  pleasures  of  the  gay  city,4ie  proposed  our  return  to 
the  chateau,  and  begged  the  Countess  de  Momy  to  accom- 
pany us.     At  my  urgent  request,  she  consented. 

On  the  day  of  our  arrival,  the  Countess  weary  with  the 

journey,  having  ^iyc.Q  to  her  own  apartments,  I  went  to 

stroll  in  the  beautiful,  beloved  park.     It  was  June,  —  that 

month  so  full  of  leaves,  flowers,  birds,  and  balmy  summer 
8* 


90 


MIBAMICIU. 


w  Is.  I  sat  at  the  foot  of  an  ol'l  beech-treo,  leaning  my 
head  against  its  huge  trunk,  lioto;»iag  to  the  flow  of  the 
river,  indulging  in  dangerous  reverie,  —  dangerous  cer- 
tainly to  my  peace  of  mind.  Suddenly,  I  was  startled  by 
the  sound  of  footsteps.  Before  I  could  collect  my  scat- 
tered senses,  your  father  stood  before  me.  *  Marie,'  he 
said,  *  Marie* 

For  one  moment,  I  met  his  earnest,  questioning  gj^ze, 
and  then  rushed  into  his  open  arms.  In  short,  he  had 
come  back  from  India,  not  a  rich  man,  but  with  a  compe- 
tence, and  when  he  found  I  had  not  forgotten  him,  but  had 
clung  to  him  still,  through  those  weary  years  of  absence, 
he  resolved  to  see  the  Count  de  Rosillon  and  renew  the 
request  he  had  made  four  years  previous. 

My  uncle,  though  much  surprised  at  his  sudden  appear- 
ance, received  him  politely,'if  not  cordially.  When  your 
father  had  laid  before  him  a  simple  statement  of  our  case, 
lie  replied  frankly. 

*  I  am  convinced,'  he  said,  *  by  what  I  have  observed 
during  your  absence,  M.  Dubois,  that  the  arrangement 
you  propose,  is  the  only  one,  which  will  secure  Marie's 
happiness.  I  will  say,  however,  honestly,  that  it  is  far 
enough  from,  what  I  designed  for  her.  But  the  manliness* 
and  honorable  feeling  you  have  manifested  in  the  afTair, 
make  me  more  willing  to  resign  her  to  you  than  I  should 
otherwise  have  been,  as  I  cannot  but  hope  that,  -although 
deprived  of  the  advantages  of  wealth  and  station,  she  will 
yet  have  the  faithful  affection  of  a  true  and  noble  heart  I 
This  was  enough  for  us  both  and  more  than  we  expected. 


MIBAMIOni. 


91 


♦*But  a  new  difficulty  arose.  Upon  observing  the 
troubled  and  uncertain  state  of  affairs  in  France,  your 
father  became  convinced  that  his  chances  to  secure  the 
endH  he  had  in  aIcw,  would  be  greater  in  the  new  world. 
Aftc/*  a  brief  period  P  deliberation,  he  fixed  upon  a  plan 
of  going  to  B)  '^1  America,  and  purchasing  there  a 
large  tract  of  h  founding  an  estate,  the  value  / ' 

which  he  anticip  4  .ui  .  increase  with  the  growth  of  the 
country. 

"To  this  arrangement,  the  Count  was  strenuously 
opposed.  There  was  a  pretty  embowered  residence,  a 
short  distance  from  the  chateau,  on  the  portion  of  the 
estate  I  had  inherited  from  my  father.  There  he  wished 
us  to  live.  In  short,  he  wished  to  retain  us  near  him- 
self. But  your  father,  with  the  enterprise  and  enthusiasm 
of  youth,  persisted  in  his  purpose.  At  last,  my  uncle  gave 
a  reluctant  consent  and  purchased  my  share  of  the  estate 
of  Rossillon. 

"  Not  to  my  surprise,  but  to  my  great  gratification,  soon 
oiler  tliis,  the  gentle  Countess  de  Momy  consented  to 
become  the  Countess  de  Rossillon. 

"  Surrounded  by  a  joyous  group  of  friends,  one  bright 
September  morning,  in  the  chapel  of  St,  Marie ^  they  were 
married,  and  then  the  priest  united  me  to  your  father.  The 
sweet  mother  looked  down  from  above  the  altar  and  seemed 
to  give  us  a  smiling  blessing.  We  were  very  happy,  my 
Adele. 

In  a  few  days  we  set  sail  for  New  Brunswick.  We 
amved  at  St.  John  in  October  and  there  spent  the  follow- 


^.'i^.. 


^.^' 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


4p 


1.0 


I.I 


1.25 


IU|2e    |25 

1^^  iriii2.2 


Sia  ■** 


Uuu 


1^      10 


1.8 


u  mil  1.6 


Photographic 

Sciaices 
Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  M580 

(716)  872-4503 


^ 

»\<^ 


92 


MreAMTcm. 


Ing  winter.  In  the  spring,  your  father  explored  this  re- 
gion and  made  a  large  purchase  of  land  here.  At  that 
time  it  seemed  a  desirable  investment.  But  you  see  how 
it  is,  my  Adele.  All  has  resulted  strangely  different  from 
what  ^e  anticipated.  And  somehow  it  has  always  been 
difficult  to  change  our  home.  From  time  to  time,  we  have 
thought  of  it, — obstacles  have  arisen  and — we  are  still 
here." 

**  But  where  is  the  Count  de  Eossillon,  mother?    It  is  ^ 
twenty  years,  is  it  not,  since  you  lefl  France?    Does  he 
yet  live?" 

**Ah!  ma  chere,  we  know  not.  After  our  departure 
from  France  we  received  frequent  letters  from  him  and  the  ' 
dear  Countess  until  five  years  since,  when  the  letters 
ceased.  They  constantly  urged  our  return  to  Bossillon. 
You  remember  well  the  thousand  pretty  toys  and  g]£tr  they 
showered  upon  your  childhood  ?  " 

**  Ah  1  yes,  mother,  I  remember.    And  you  have  not 
heard  a  word  from  them  for  five  years ! " 

"Not  a  word." 

**  Do  you  wish  to  go  back  to  France,  mother?  " 
■  <<  It  is  the  only  wish  of  my  heart  that  is  unsatisfied.  I 
am  full  of  ceaseless  yearnings  for  the  beautiful  home  of  my 
youth*  Would  that  we  could  return  there.  But  it  may 
not  be.  France  is  in  a  state  of  turmoil.  I  know  not  what 
fate  has  befallen  either  my  uncle,  or  his  estate.  He  may 
be  dead.  Or,  if  living,  he  may  no  longer  be  the  prc^rie 
tor  of  beautiful  Bossillon.    We  cannot  learn  how  it  is." 

**  Cannot  my  father  go  to  France  and  ascertain  what  has 


J  ( 


MmAHiom. 


93 


happened  there?  Perhaps,  mother,  he  might  find  a  home 
for  you  once  more  m  yovir  dear  Picardy." 

**  He  is  thinking  of  it  even  now,  mafille,** . 

"Is  he,  mother?  Then  be  comforted.  You  will  see 
that  sweet  home  once  more,  I  feel  assured." 

She  rose  and  flung  her  arms  around  Mrs.  Dubois,  ex- 
claiming, "  Dear,  beautiful  mother  I " 

An. hour  later,  Adele  might  have  been  seen,  wandering 
about  in  Micah's  grove,  her  mind  and  heart  overflowing 
with  new,  strange  thoughts  and  emotions.  She  had  just 
received  the  first  full  revelation  of  the  early  life  of  her 
parents.  Her  knowledge  of  it  before  had  been  merely 
vague  and  confused.  Now  a  new  world  was  opened  for 
her  active  fancy  to  revel  in,  and  fresh  fountains  of  sympa- 
thy to  pour  forth,  for  those  whom  she  so  fondly  loved. 
She  sighed  as  she  recalled  that  yearning,  wistful  look  upon 
her  mother's  face,  in  those  hours  when  her  thoughts  seemed 
far  away  from  the  present  scene,  and  grieved  that  her  gen- 
tle spirit  should  so  long  have  suffered  the  exile's  woe. 

For  weeks  after,  she  continually  fell  into  reverie.  In 
her  day  dreams  she  wandered  through  the  saloons  and  cor- 
ridors of  the  old  chateau,  where  her  mother  had  spent  so 
many  years,  chequered  with  sunshine  and  shade.  She  ram- 
bled over  the  park  and  cooled  her  fevered  head  and  hands 
in  the  water  that  dripped  from  the  tresses  of  the  marble 
Aphrodite.  Fancy  took  her  over  the  route  of  foreign 
tra^,  her  mother  had  pursued  with  the  Count  de  Rossil- 
lon.  ^he  longed  herself  to  visit  those  regions  of  clascsi 
and  romantic  interest.     During  the  long,  golden,  Septem- 


94 


MIRAMIOHI. 


ber  afternoons,  she  spent  hours,  in  the  Madoana  room, 
questioning  her  mother  anew  respecting  the  scenes  and 
events  of  her  past  life,  and  listening  eagerly  to  her  replies. 
The  young  examine  distant  objects  as  through  a  prism. 
Adele's  imagination  invested  these  scenes  and  events  with 
rainbow  splendors  and  revelled  in  the  wealth  and  beauty, 
she  had  herself  partially  created.  The  new  world  thus 
opened  to  her  was  infinitely  superior  to  the  one  in  which 
she  held  her  commonplace,  humdrum  existence.  She 
never  wearied  of  her  mother's  reminiscences  of  the  past. 
Each  fresh  description,  each  recalled  item  of  that  history, 
added  to  the  extent  and  the  charms  of  her  new  world. 

Mrs.  Dubois  herself  felt  a  degree  of  pleasure  in  thus  liv- 
ing over  again  her  former  life  with  one,  who  entered  art- 
lessly and  enthusiastically  into  its  joys  and  sorrows.  She 
also  experienced  an  infinite  relief  in  pouring  out  to  her 
sympathizing  child  the  regrets  and  longings  which  had,  for 
so  long  a  period,  been  closely  pent  in  her  own  breast. 
Mother  and  daughter  were  drawn  nearer  to  each  othe^  day 
by  day,  and  those  hours  of  sweet  communion  were  ag 
the  purest,  the  happiest  of  their  lives. 


<  /  - 


.'..-.".^.v,. 


m- 


ur^:. 


CHAPTER  XI. 


HJtt.  BKOWN. 

Nearly  two  weeks  htid  elapsed  since  the  night  when 
Mr,  Duboii  had  brought  Mr.  Brown,  in  a  sick  and  fainting 
condition^  into  his  house.  That  gentleman  had  lain  very 
ill  ever  since.  The  disease  was  typhoid  fever ;  the  patient 
was  in  a  eritioal  state^  and  nothing  now  but  the  utmost  care 
and  quiet  could  save  his  life. 

*  *  What  directions  have  you  left  for  to-day,  Dr.  Wright  ?" 
said  Ad^Ie  to  the  physician,  as  he  came  one  morning  from 
the  sick-room. 

**  Mrs,  McNab  has  the  programme, "  he  replied. 

**  Will  you  please  repeat  it  to  me,  sir?  Mrs.  McNab  has 
been  called  elsewhere,  and  will  not  have  charge  of  the  gen- 
tleman to-day," 

Mrs,  Dubois  looked  at  Ad^le  with  some  siu*prise.  She 
made  no  remark,  however,  as  Dr.  Wright  immediately  began 
.to  give  the  directions  for  his  patient  to  that  young  lady. 

When  ho  had  taken  leave  and  closed  tlfe  door,  Adele 

^turned  to  her  mother  and  said,   "  I  have  suspected  for 

several  da-ys  that  things  were  not  goin^  on  properly  in 

that  sick-room;    Last  night,  I  became  convinced  of  it. 

I  cannot  stop  to  tell  you  about  it  now,  mamma,  as  there 


■JWPW'I'l.li 


"mmamm 


96 


tttAAXIOBI. 


;^ 


is  no  time  to  \m§  with  ma  inralicl.  But  Mrs.  McNab 
must  decamp*  I  luwe  it  all  arranged,  and  I  promise  you 
I  will  not  o(feml  Aunt  Tatty,  but  will  dismiss  her  peace- 
ably. Do  trmt  \m  to  ine  once,  mamma.  Please  go 
now  and  tcU  \m  i\m&  in  a  message  waiting  for  her  in  the 
dining-room,  Stay  with  Mr.  Brown  just  one  half  hour, 
and  you  shall  have  f*o  mitre  trouble  to-day." 

**  But,  ma  i'/tifef  ym  hare  no  patience  with  Aunt  Patty. 
I  am  afmld  you  wl)l  \m  too  abrupt  with  her." 

**  Don't  fear,  tnaniina^  1  promise  you  I  will  not  outrage 
Aunt  Patty,    ¥k»m  go/' 

<«  Ah !  well  I  I  will  go/*  said  Mrs.  Dubois. 

Mrs,  McNab  man  mode  her  appearance  in  the  dining- 
room,  and  I  with  mnm  degree  of  trepidation,  inquired  who 
wanted  her  tliere# 

'♦Mieabwfti  \m§  an  hour  ago,**  replied  Adele,  "and 
said  Mrs,  Campbell  mat  lilm  here  to  ask  you  to  come  and 
help  her.  Four  of  her  children  are  sick  with  the  measles 
and  she  is  mavly  (Umti  herself,  in  consequence  of  fatigue 
and  watching,  J  did  not  s[»cak  to  you  then,  as  I  supposed 
you  were  sleeping,  I  told  Micah  I  had  no  doubt  you 
would  com&t  m  ilwre  are  enough  here  to  take  care  of  the 
sick  gentleman,  awl  Mrn,  Campbell  needs  you  so  much." 

**Weel,  MliS  A4y/' said  Mrs.  McNab,  twitching  vio- 
lently a  stray  loek  of  Iter  flaming  hau:  and  tucking  it 
beneath  her  eapf  ''Xdinna  ken  how  you  could  tak'upon 
yourself  to  sendiU^li  a  ward  as  that,  when  Mr.  Brown  is 
just  on  tba  ereesk  of  hi«  fmet  and  not  one  of  ye  aa  knows 
how  to  tak'  cave  ^  Mm  more  than  a  nussin'  babe." 


MTRAMTCm. 


07 


**  Ah  I  indeed  I  Aunt  Patty,"  said  Adele,  pretending  to 
be  offended,  *<do  you  say  that  my  mother  knows  nothing 
about  sickness,  when  you  are  aware  she^  has  carried  my 
father  through  two  dangerous  fevers  and  me  through  all 
the  diseases  of  babyhood  and  childhood?'' 

"That  mon  'ull  never  get  weel  if  I  leave  him  noo,  when 
I  've  the  run  of  the  muddesons  and  directions.  A  strange 
hand  'ull  put  everything  wrang  and  hell  dee,  that's  a'." 

"And  if  he  does  die,"  said  Adele,  "you  will  not  be 
responsible.  You  have  done  what  you  could  for  him  and 
now  you  are  called  away.  I  am  sure  you  will  not  permit 
Mrs.  Campbell  to  suffer,  when  she  gave  you  a  comfortable 
home  in  her  house  all  last  winter." 

"Weel,  Mrs.  Cawmmells'  a  gude  woman  enough  and 
I'm  sorry  the  baims  are  sick.  But  what's  the  measles  to  a 
fever  like  this,  and  the  mon  nigh  dead  noo?"  Aunt 
Patty's  face  flushed  scarlet. 

"  Aunt  Patty,"  said  Adele,  very  slowly  and  decidedly, 
"Mr.  Brown  is  my  father's  guest.  We  are  accountable 
for  his  treatment,  and  not  you.  My  mother  and  I  are 
going  to  take  charge  of  him  now.  I  sent  word  to  Mrs. 
Campbell  that  there  was  nothing  to  prevent  you  from  coming 
to  assist  her.  You  have  had  your  share  of  the  fatigue  and 
watching  with  our  invalid.  Now  we  are  going  to  relieve 
you. "  There  was  something  in  Adele's  determined  air,  that 
convinced  Mrs.  McNab  the  time  for  her  to  yield  had  at 
length  come,  and  that  it  was  of  no  use  for  her  to  jontest  the 
field  longer.  Feeling  sure  of  this,  there  were  various  rea- 
sons, occurring  to  her  on  the  jnstant,  that  restrained  her 
9 


Wk- 


98 


MIBAMIOIU. 


from  a  further  expression  of  her  vexation.      After  a  few 
moments  of  sullen  silence,  she  rose  and  said  — 

*•  Weel  I  I  '11  go  and  put  my  things  tegither,  that  *s  in 
Mr.  Brown's  room,  and  tell  Mrs.  Doobyce  aboot  the  mud- 
desons  and  so  on." 

*< That  is  not  necessary," said  Adele ;  "The  Dr.  has  giv- 
en me  directions  about  the  medicines.  Here  is  breakfast  all 
ready  for  you,  Aunt  Patty.  Sit  down  and  eat  it,  while 
it  is  hot.  I  will  go  to  the  gentleman's  room  and  gather  up 
what  you  have  left  there.     Come,  sit  down  now." 

Adele  placed  a  pot  of  hot  coffee  and-i  plate  of  warm  rolls 
upon  the  table.         i  >  ^  \ 

Mrs.  McNab  stood  for  a  moment,  much  perplexed  be- 
tween her  impulse  to  go  back  to  Mr.  Brown's  room  and 
•unburden  her  mind  to  IVIrs.  Dubois,  and  the  desire  to  par- 
take immediately  of  the  tempting  array  upon  the  breakfast- 
table.  Finally,  her  material  wants  gained  the  ascendency 
and  she  sat  down  very  composedly  to  a  discussion  of  the 
refreshments,  while  Adele,  anticipating  that  result,  hasten- 
ed up  stairs  to  collect  the  remaining  insignia  of  that  worthy 
woman's  departing  greatness. 

Mrs.  Dubois,  -on  going  to  Mr.  Brown's  room,  had  found 
the  atmosphere  close  and  suffocating,  and  that  gentleman, 
tossing  restlessly  on  the  bed  from  side  to  side,  talking  to 
himself  in  a  wild  delirium;  She  left  the  door  ajar  and  be- 
gan bathing  his  fevered  head  in  cool  water.  This  seemed 
to  soothe  him  greatly  and  he  sank  back  almost  immediately 
into  a  deathlike  slumber,  in  which  he  lay  when  Adele  en- 
tered the  chamber.  • 


MTRAMTOHI. 


99 


Cautioned  by  her  mother's  uplifted  finger,  she  moved 
about  noiselessly,  until  she  had  made  up  a  large  and  mis- 
cellaneous package  of  articles ;  then  descended  quietly,  in- 
wardly resolving  that  the  <*Nuss"  as  she  called  herself, 
should  not  for  several  weeks  at  least,  revisit  the  scene  of  her 
late  operations. 

Mrs.  McNab  was  still  pursuing  her  breakfast,  and  Ad^le 
sat  down,  with  what  patience  she  could  command,  to  wait 
for  the  close. 

"You'll  be  wanting  some  ain  to  watch  to-night,  Miss 
Ady,"  said  Aunt  Patty. 

**  Yes,  Mr.  Norton  will  do  that.  He  has  offered  many 
times  to  watch.  He  will  be  very  kind  and  attentive  to  the 
invalid,  I  know." 

**  I  s'pose  he  '11  do  as  weel  as  he  knows  hoo,  but  I  havena 
much  faith  in  a  mon  that  sings  profane  sangs  and  ca  's  '  em 
relegious  heems,  to  a  people  that  need  the  bread  o'  life 
broken  to  'em." 

"Have  you  heard  him  sing.  Aunt  Patty?  I  did  not 
know  you  had  attended  his  meetings  at  the  grove." 

"  I  havena,  surely.  But  when  the  windows  wei..  j.p, 
I  heard  him  singin'  them  jigs  and  reels,  and  I  ex- 
pectin'  every  minut  to  see  the  men,  women,  and  bairns 
a  dancin'." 

**  They  sit  perfectly  still,  while  he  is  singing,"  said 
Adele,  "and  listen  as  intently  as  if  they  heard  an  angel. 
His  voice  is  sometimes  like  a  flute,  sometimes  like  a 
trumpet.     Did  you  hear  the  words  he  sang?" 

"  The  wards  I  yes  I  them's  the -worst  of  a  1 "  said  Mre. 


100 


MIRAMIORIt 


McNab,  expanding  her  nostrils  with  a  snort  of  contempt. 
**The7  bear  na  resemblance  whatever  to  the  Psalms  o' 
David.  I  should  as  soon  think  o'  singing  the  sangs  ol 
Bobby  Bums  at  a  relegious  service  as  them  blasphemous 
things."  • 

**0h  I  Aunt  Patty,  you  are  wrong.  lie  sings  beautiful 
hymns,  and  he  tells  these  people  just  what  they  need.  I 
hope  they  will  listen  to  him  and  reform." 

**  Weel  ho 's  a  very  light  way  o '  carryin  hiiQselff  for  a 
minister  o '  the  gospel,  I  must  say." 

**He  is  cheerful,  to  be  sure,  and  sympathizes  with  the 
people,  and  helps  them  in  their  daily  labor  sometimesi  if 
that  is  what  you  refer  to.  I  am  sure  that  is  right,  and  I 
like  him  for  it, "  said  Adele. 

«« Weel  I  I  see  he's  a'  in  a'  with  you,  noo,  "  said  Mrs. 
McNab,  at  last  rising  from  the  table.  < '  1 11  go  up  noo  and 
tak*  leave  o*  the  patient." 

**No,  no, "  said  Adele.  **He  is  sleeping.  He  must 
not  be  disturbed  on  any  account.  His  life  may  depend 
upon  this  slumber  remaining  unbroken." 

She  rose  involuntarily  and  placed  herself  against  the 
door  leading  to  the  stairs. 

-Mrs.  McNab  grew  red  with  anger,  ot  being  thus  foiled. 
Turning  aside  to  hide  her  vexation,  she  waddled  across 
the  room,  took  her  bonnet  and  shawl  from  a  peg  she  had 
appropriated  to  her  special  use,  and  proceeded  to  invest 
herself  for  her  departure.  ^ 

**Weel  1  I  s'pose  ye '11  expect  me  to  come  when  ye 
send  for  me,"  amd  she,  'turning  round  in  the  doorway  with 


MIRAMICm. 


101 


a  grotesque  distortion  of  her  face  intended  for  on  ironical 
smile. 

*'  That  is  just  as  you  please,  Aunt  Patty.  "We  shall  be 
happy  to  see  you  whenever  you  choose  to  come.  Good- 
by." 

**  Good  by,"  said  IVIrs.  McNab  in  a  quacking,  quaver- 
ing, half  resentful  tone,  as  she  closed  the  door  behind  her. 

Adele  went  immediately  to  the  adjoining  pantry,  called 
Bess,  a  tidy  looking  mulatto,  gave  her  directions  for  the 
morning  work  and  then  went  up  stairs  to  relieve  her  moth- 
er. Mrs.  Dubois  made  signs  to  her  that  she  preferred  not  to 
resign  her  post.  But  Adele  silently  insisted  she  should  do 
so. 

After  her  mother  had  left  the  room,  she  placed  herself 
near  the  bedside  that  she  might  observe  the  countenance 
and  the  breathing  of  the  invalid.  His  face  was  pale  as  that 
of  death.  His  j)reath  came  and  went  almost  imperceptibly. 
The  physician  had  excluded  every  ray  of  sunshine  and  a 
hush,  like  that  of  the  grave,  reigned  in  the  apartment.  In 
her  intercourse  with  the  people  of  the  settlement,  Adele 
had  often  witnessed  extreme  illness  and  several  dying  scenes  ; 
but  she  ha^  never  before  felt  herself  so  oppressed  and  awe- 
struck as  now.  As  she  sat  there  alone  with  the  apparently 
dying  man,  she  felt  that  a  silent,  yet  mighty  struggle  was 
going  on  between  the  forces  of  life  and  death.  She  feared 
death  would  obtain  the  victory.  By  a  terrible  fascination, 
hef  eyes  became  fixed  on  the  ghastly  face  .over  which  she 
fancied  she  could  perceive,  more  and  more  distinctly,  shad- 
ows cast  by  the  hand  of  the  destroyer.  Every  moment  she 
9»  . 


mm^ 


mm 


102 


MIRAMIOUI. 


thought  of  rocalUag  her  mother,  but  feared  that  tho  slightest 
jarriug  movement  of  the  atmosphere  might  stop  at  once  that 
feeble  respiration.  So  she  remained,  watching  terror  strick- 
en, waiting  for  the  last,  absolute  silence,  — the  immovable 
repose. 

Suddenly,  she  heard  a  long,  deep-drawn  sigh.  She 
saw  the  head  of  tho  sufferer  turn  gently  on  one  side, 
pressing  the  pillow.  A  color  —  the  faintest  in  the  world, 
stole  over  the  features.  The  countenance  gradually  settled 
into  a  calm,  natural  expression.  The  respiration  became 
stronger  and  more  regular.  In  a  few  moments,  he  slept 
as  softly  as  a  little  child. 

Ad^le's  heart  gave  one  bound,  and  then  for  a  moment 
stood  still.  She  uttered  a  sigh  of  relief,  but  sank  back  in 
her  chair,  wearied  by  excess  of  emotion.  She  felt  instinc- 
tively, that  the  crisis  had  been  safely  passed,  that  there  was 
hope  for  the  invalid. 

Then,  for  a  long  time,  her  mind  was  occupied  with 
thoughts  respecting  death  and  the  beyond. 

Suddenly  a  shadow,  flitting  across  the  curtained  win- 
dow, recalled  her  to  the  present  scene. 

Ah  I  what  a  mercy,  she  thought,  that  Aunt  Patty  did 
not  kill  him,  before  I  discovered  her  beautiful  mode  of 
nursing  sick  people.  No  wonder  he  has  been  crazed  all 
this  time,  with  those  strange  manoeuvres  of  hers  I 

On  the  previous  night,  Adele  had  been  the  last  of  the 
family  to  retire.  Stealing  noiselessly  past  the  door  of  4he 
sick-room,  which  was  somewhat  ajar,  her  steps  were  ar- 
rested by  hearing  Aunt  Patty,  whose  voice  was  pitched  on 


lIIRAMIOm. 


108 


a  very  high  key,  sinking  some  old  Scotch  Bong..  Think- 
ing this  rather  a  strange  method  of  composing  the  nervous 
system  of  a  delirious  patient,  she  stood  and  listened. 
Up,  far  up,  into  the  loftiest  regions  of  sound,  went  Aunt 
Patty's  cracked  and  quavering  voice,  and  then  it  came 
down  with  a  heavy,  precipitous  fall  into  a  loud  grumble 
and  tumble  below.  She  repeated  again  and  again,  in  a 
most  hilarious  tone,  the  words  — 

"Let  us  go,  lassie,  go. 

To  tho  braes  of  Bolquhithor, 
Where  the  blacbarries  grow, 
*Mang  tho  bonnio  Highland  heather." 

In  the  midst  of  this,  Adele  heard  a  deep  groan.  Then 
she  heard  the  invalid  say  in  a  feeble,  deprecating  tone — 

**AhI  why  do  you  mock  me?  Am  I  not  miserable 
enough?" 

Mrs.  McNab  stopped  a  moment,  then  replied  in  a  sharp 
voice,  **  Mockin'  ye  I  indeed,  it 's  na  such  thing.  If  ye  had 
an  atom  o'  moosic  in  ye,  ye  wad  ken  at  ance,  its  %swect 
Scotch  sang  I'm  singin'  to  ye.  I  '^  sung  mony  a  bairn  to 
sleep  wi'  it." 

There  was  no  reply  to  this  remark.  All  was  quiet  for 
a  moment,  when  Adele,  fancying  she  heard  the  clinking  of 
a  spoon  against  the  side  of  a  tumbler,  leaned  forward  a 
little  and  looked  through  the  aperture  made  by  the  partially 
opened  door.  The  nurse  was  sitting  by  the  fire,  in  her 
huge  headgear,  -wrapped  in  a  shawl  and  carefully  stirring, 
what  seemed,  by  the  odor  exhaled,  to  be  whiskey.    Her 


mmm 


mummimim'm&m 


104 


MIBAMICHI. 


face  was  very  red  and  her  ejes  wide  open,  staring  at  the 
coals. 

The  sufferer  uttered  some  words,  which  Adelo  could 
not  distinguish,  in  an  excited  voice. 

**  I  tell  ye,  there  isna  ony  hope  for  ye,"  said  Mrs.  Mc- 
Nab,  who,  for  some  reason,  not  apparent,  seemed  to  be 
greatly  irritated  by  whatever  remarks  her  patient  made. 

**  There  isna  ony  hope  for  thum  that  hasna  been  elect- 
ed. Ye  might  talk  an'  pray  a'  yer  life  and  'twould  do  ye 
na  gude.  I  dinna  ken  where  you  've  been  a'  yer  life,  not  to 
ken  that  afore.  With  a'  yer  furbelowed  claithes  and  jew- 
elled watch  anid  trinkets,  ye  dinna  ken  much  aboot  the 
gospel.  And  then  tliis  new  preacher  a'  tellin'  the  people 
they  can  be  saved  ony  minut  they  choose  to  gie  up  their 
heaiiis  to  the  Lord  I  Its  a'  tegither  false.  I  was  taught  in 
the  Kirk  o'  Scotland,  that  a  mon  might  pray  and  pray  a' 
his  days,  and  then  he  wadua  be  sure  o'  bein'  saved. 
That 's  the  blessed  doctrine  I  was  taught.  If  ye  are  to  be 
saved,  ye  will  be.  There  noo,  go  to  sleep.  I'll  read  the 
ward  o'  God  to  ye." 

Alas !  for  the  venerable  church  of  old  Scotia,  had  she 
many  such  exponents  of  her  doctrine  as  Mrs.  McNab. 

Having  thus  relieved  her  mind,  the  nurse  swallowed  the 
contents  of  the  tumbler,  She  then  rose,  drew  a  chair 
towards  a  table,  on  which  stood  a  shaded  lamp  and  took 
from  thence  a  Bible ;  but  finding  her  eyesight  rather  dim, 
withdrew  to  a  cot  in  one  comer  of  the  room,  threw  herself 
down  and  was  soon  sleeping,  and  snoring  prodigiously. 

Adelc,  who  had,  during  the  enactment  of  this  scene, 


MIRAMICHI. 


105 


dele  could 


been  prevented  from  rushing  in  and  deposing  Mrs.  McKab 
at  once,  only  by  a  fear  of  exciting  the  patient  to  a  degree 
of  frenzy,  stole  in  quietly,  bathed  Iiis  head  with  some  per- 
fumed water,  smoothed  his  pillow  and  seated  herself,  near 
the  fire,  whwe  she  remained  until  morning. 

Mr.  Brown  slept  only  during  the  briefest  intervals  and 
was  turning  restlessly  and  talking  incoherently  all  night. 

Soon  after  day  dawn,  Aunt  Patty  began  to  bestir  her- 
self, but  before  she  had  observed  her  presence,  Adele  had 
escaped  to  her  own  room.  Soon,  hearing  Micah's  voice, 
she  went  to  the  kitchen.  She  found  his  message  from 
Mrs.  Campbell,  just  the  excuse  lHp  needed  to  enable  her  to 
dispose  of  Mrs.  McNab.  She  had  become  quite  con- 
vinced that  whatever  good  qualities  that  worthy  woman 
might  possess  as  a  nurse,  her  unfortunate  proclivities  to- 
wards the  whiskey  bottle,  imited  with  her  rigid  theological 
tenets,  rendered  it  rather  unsafe  to  trust  her  longer  with  a 
patient,  whose  case  required  the  most  delicate  c^re  and 
attention. 

The  queer,  old  clock  in  the  dining-room  struck  one. 
AdMe  heard  it.  She  was  still  watching.  Mr.  Brown  still 
slept  that  quiet  sleep.  Just  then,  Mrs.  Dubois  entered, 
took  her  daughter's  hand,  led  her  to  the  door,  and 
whispered— 

<*  Now,  take  some  food  and  go  to  rest.  I  will  not 
leave  him."    Adele  obeyed. 


f...  '-'  •■  iirm  iWQttlMltiaiii  auMwm 


.■■!(:,_!  ::;,-. .-'    '  ■;-•;--  .^-.'.ti 


CHAPTER  Xn. 


!•: 


A  CASE  OP  CONSCIENCE. 


Mr.  Brown  remained  in  a  peaceful  slumber  during  the 
afternoon.  Mrs.  Dubois  aroused  him  occasionally,  in  order 
to  moisten  his  parched  lips,  and  with  her  husband's  aid  and 
Mr.  Norton's  to  change  his  position  in  the  bed.  At  such 
times  he  opened  his  eyes,  gazed  at  them  inquiringly,  feebly, 
assented  to  their  arrangements,  then  sank  away  into  sleep 
again. 

The  members  of  the  family  felt  a  peculiar  interest  in 
the  stranger.  Mr.  Dubois  had  described  him,  as  a  man 
of  intelligence,  refined  and  elegant  in  his  deportment  and 
tastes.  He  had  noticed  in  him,  an  air  of  melancholy, 
which  even  ludicrous  events  on  the  journey  had  dissi- 
pated, but  for  the  moment.  The  wild  words  he  had 
uttered  on  the  night  of  his  arrival,  revealed  some  deep  dis- 
quiet of  mind.  Away  from  home,  hovering  between  life 
and  death,  a^^d  thrown  on  the  tender  mercies  of  strangers, 
Mrs.  Dubois  was  filled  with  compassion  and  solicitude  in 
his  behalf.  \ 

Having  confidence  in  Mrs.  McNab's  skill  as  a  nurse, 
she  had  not  suspected  that  her  partiality  for  a  hot  dose  at 


MIBAMICHI. 


107 


night,  would  interfere  with  her  faithMness  to  her  charge. 
Not  having  communicated  with  Adele,  she  did  not  yet 
know  why  it  had  been  deemed  important  to  dispose  of  her 
80  summarily,  and  she  secretly  wondered  how  it  had  been 
accomplished  with  so  little  ado.  When  informed,  she  ap- 
proved Adele's  decisive  action. 

Mr.  Norton  had  fully  shared  the  interest  felt  by  the 
family  in  the  stranger,  and  was  happy  to  relieve  Mrs.  Du- 
bois in  the  evening  and  to  remain  by  his  bedside -during  the 
night.  Since  his  first  interview  with  Mr.  Brown,  on  the 
day  of  his  arrival,  he  had  felt  that,  in  accordance^  with  the 
vows  by  which  he  had  bound  himself  to  the  great  Master, 
the  unfortunate  stranger  had  a  claim  on  him,  which  he  re- 
solved to  fulfil  at  the  earliest  moment  possible.  He  had 
had  no  opportunity  as  yet,  of  executing  his  purpose,  Mrs. 
McNab  having  guarded  the  door  of  the  sick-room  like  a 
lioness  watcliing  her  cubs.  When  she  had  by  chance  per- 
mitted him  to  enter,  he  had  found  her  patient  wandering 
in  mind  and  entirely  incapable  of  coherent  conversation. 

Meantime,  he  had  prayed  earnestly  for  hia  recovery  and 
secretly  felicitated  himself  with  the  hope  of  leading  him  to 
a  rock  of  refuge,  - —  a  tower  of  defence,  which  would  secure 
him  from  sin  and  sorrow. 

Mr.  Brown  continued  to  sleep  so  peacefully  during  the 
night,  that  Mr.  Norton,  whose  hopes  for  his  recovery  had 
been  increasing  every  hour,  yras  not  surprised  at  the  dawn 
of  day  to  perceive  his  eyes  open,  examining  the  objects  in 
the  room,  with  the  air  of  a  person  just  awakened  from  a 
bewildering  dream. 


108 


MIBAMIGHI. 


He  gazed  curiously  at  the  heavy,  carved  bureau  of  datlc 
wood,  at  the  grotesque  httle  table,  covered  with  vials  add 
cups,  at  the  cabinet  filled  with  specimens  of  foreign  skill 
and  art,  at  the  Venetian  carpet  and  at  last,  his  eyes  re- 
mained fixed  upon  a  black  crucifix,  placed  in  the  centre  of 
the  mantle.     He  uttered  a  deep  sigh. 

Mr,  Norton,  convinced  that  he  had  fully  collected  his 
scattered  thoughts  and  become  aware  of  the  realities  of  lus 
situation,-  stepped  gently  forward  from  his  station  behind 
the  bed  and  taking  Mr.  Brown's  hand,  said,  in  a  cheerM 
tone,    **  How  do  you  find  yourself,  my  dear  sir?  " 

After  a  momentary  surprise,  Mr.  Brown  replied — 

**  Better,  I  think,  sir,  better." 

**  Yes  sir.  You  are  better.  I  thank  God  for  it.  And 
also  for  this  hospitable  roof  and  the  kind  care  these  people 
have  taken  of  you  in  your  illness.  The  Lord's  angel  must 
have  guided  your  steps  to  this  house,  and  mine  also,** 

"This  house,  sir!  whose  is  it?" 

*<  It  belongs  to  Mr.  Dubois."  ? 

**Ahl  I  recollect.  I  came  here  with  him  and  have 
been  ill  several  days.     And  the  country  is  —  " 

**  Miramichi,"  said  Mr.  Norton.  <*  A  desperate  region 
sir.     A  land  where  the  darkness  may  be^eZ^." 

Just  then  a  ray  of  red,  burning  sunshine  shot  into  the 
room.  The  good  man  modified  his  remark,  exclaiming, 
**  Morally,  sir,  morally."     , 

Observing  a  cloud  of  anxiety  stealing  over  Mr.  Brown's 
face,  he  went  on.  • 

"Now,  my  dear  sir,  let  me  tell  you— ^ you  have  been 


MIRAMICHI. 


109 


very  ill  for  two  week*.  The  danger  in  your  case  is  now 
over,  but  you  are  extremely  weak,  and  need,  for  a  time,  the 
attention  of  the  two  lovely  nurses,  who  watched  over  you 
yesterday  and  are  ready  to  bestow,  kind  care  upon  you  again 
to-day.  You  must  lay  aside,  for  the  present,  all  troubles 
of  mind  and  estate,  and  devote  yourself  to  getting  well. 
When  you  are  somewhat  stronger,  I  have  excellent  things 
to  tell  you." 

*<  Excellent  things  1"  exclaimed  Mr.  Brown,  excited- 
ly,—a  flush  overspreading  his  wan  features.  *<  Has  the 
traitor  been  found?"  Then  with  a  profound  sigh  of  disap- 
pointment, he  uttered  feebly  — 

♦*  Ah !  you  do  not  know." 

**I  do  not  know  what  your  particular  trouble  is,  my 
dear  sir,  but  I  know  of  a  way  to  relieve  you  of  that,  or 
any  other  burden  that  weighs  on  your  spirits.  I  will 
inform  you  when  you  get  stronger.  What  you  need 
now.  Is  a  cup  of  oatmeal  gruel,  mingled  with  a  tea-spoon- 
ful of  wine,  which  shall  immediately  be  presented  to  you 
by  the  youthful  queen  of  this  mansion." 

He  turned  to  go  and  call  Adele.  But  Mr.  Brown 
motioned  him  to  remain. 

**  Do  you  reside  here,  sir?"  he  asked,  in  accents  indicat- 
ing great  prostration  and  despondency. 

«♦  No,  sir.    I  arrived  here  only  a  few  hours  before  your 

I  am  from  the  State  of .    You  are  also  from  that 

region,  and  I  shaU  not  leave  you  until  I  see  you  with  your 
face  set  towards  your  native  soil.    Now,  my  dear  sir,  be 
quiet.    Perhaps  your  life  depends  on  lit." 
10 


t" '■'■'""■-''''— '1ii»M»r(ii^«ir»i)iMiii 


110 


MtttAlUCIII. 


**  My  lifo  fi  not  wortfi «  pmaj  to  tmyhody.** 

*<It  U  worth  tea  tfioUMitid  pounds  and  more  to  your 
friends.    Bo  quloty  I  My»** 

And  Mr.  Nortoa  w<mt  cmt  of  tho  room,  gently  but  deci- 
sively. Mr.  BfOwn*»  tfytm  followed  him  aa  he  closed  the 
door.  '       >  < 

Already  bo  folt  tbo  magnetic  power  of  that  good  and 
8ympatbi;;ing  \mAftf  of  that  honest,  upright  soul,  which 
inspired  by  boavo»ly  Wo  and  zeal,  cast  rays  of  life  and 
happiness  wborovof  it  tnoved. 

Moreover,  bo  wm  too  much  prostrated  in  mmd  and  body, 
vigorously  to  ^rmp  tlie  eifcomstances  of  his  situatjion, 
whatever  they  might  he,  Pain  and  debility  had  dulled  lus 
faculties  and  tho  ttlmfprniM  if(  his  sorrow  also.  The  good 
missionary's  olioory  w\m  and  heartfelt  smile  soothed^  for 
the  time,  bis  woiuidod  spirit.  It  was  as  if  he  had  taken  a 
sip  of  Letlio  and  iiod  ootno  into  the  land  in  which  it  always 
seemetb  afternoon,  , 

Soon  Adiblo  oponod  tlio  door  and  approaching  the  table 
gently,  pkeed  W|)0»  it  tiie  gruel.  When  she  turned  her 
eyes  full  of  sympotiiy  an^l  Icindness  upon  him  and  inquired 
for  his  health,  iio  star NmI  with  a  remembrance  that  gave 
him  both  pain  and  ploosure.  She  reminded  him  strangely 
of  the  being  bo  lovod  more  than  any  other  on  earth — his 
sister.     Ho  amwetml  \mf  question  confusedly. 

She  then  vfdmd  lAn  heoil  upon  the  pUlow  with  one  hand 
and  presented  tbo  oup  to  hii  lips  with  the  other.  He  drank 
its  contents,  mooluinioftlly, 

Ad^le  procoodod  nok^ly  to  anange  the  tomewhat  dis- 


MTRAMTCHI. 


» 


111 


ordered  room,  and  after  placing  a  screen  between  it  and  the 
bed,  raised  a  window,  through  which  the  warm  Septem- 
ber atmosphere  wandered  in,  indolently  bathing  his  weary 
brow.  As  he  felt  its  sofb  undulations  on  his  face,  and  look- 
ing around  the  pleasant  apartment  observed  the  grace- 
ful motions  of  his  youthful  nurse,  the  scenes  through 
which  he  had  recently  passed,  appeared  like  those  of  an 
ugly  nightmare,  and  floated  away  from  his  memory.  The 
old  flow  of  his  life  seemed  to  come  back  agaia  and  he  gave 
himself  up  to  pleasant  dreams. 

Mr.  Brown  continued  thenceforward  to  improve  in 
health,  though  slowly.  Mr.  Norton  slept  on  a  cot  in  his 
room  every  night  and  spent  a  part  of  every  day  with  him, 
assisting  in  his  toilet,  conversing  with  him  of  the  affairs, 
business  and  political,  of  their  native  State,  and  reading  to 
him  occasionally  from  books  furnished  by  Mr.  Dubois's 
library.  ^ ■'-:■-■  ^■■^: '--■■■:.■/'■.■  .   -;  ^"■-- /t;::--' 

He  informed  Mr.  Brown  of  his  mission  to  this  wild  region 

» 

of  Miramichi,  and  the  motives  that  induced  it.  That  gen- 
tleman admired  the  purity  and  singleness  of  purpose  which 
had  led  this  man,  unfavored  indeed  by  a  careful  classical  cul- 
ture, but  possessing  many  gifts  and  much  practical  knowl- 
edge, thus  to  sacrifice  himself  in  this  abyss  of  ignorance  and 
sin.  He  was  drawn  to  him  daily  by  the  magnetism  which 
a  strong,  yet  heroic  and  genial  soul  always  exercises  upon 
those  who  approach  it. 

In  a  few  days  he  had,  without  any  effort  of  the  good 
man  and  involuntarily  on  his  own  part,  confided  to  him  the 
heavy  weight  that  troubled  his  conscience. 


112 


MIRAMICm. 


**  Ah  1"  saidlVIr.  Norton,  his  eyes  fiill  of  profound  sor- 
row, and  probing  the  wound  now  laid  open  to  the  quick, 
**  it  was  a  terrible  weakness  to  have  yielded  thus  to  the 
wiles  of  that  artful  foreigner.  May  Heaven  forgive 
you  I" 

Surprised  and  shocked  at  this  reception  of  his  confession, 
Mr.  Brown,  who  had  hoped  for  consolation  or  counsel 
from  his  sympathizing  companion,  felt  cut  to  the  heart. 
His  countenance  settled  into  an  expression  of  utter  de- 
spair. 

"Why  have  you  sought  so  diligently  to  restore  me  to 
health, — to  a  disgraced  and  miserable  existence?  Yoti 
must  have  known,  from  the  delirous  words  of  my  illness, 
of  which  you  have  told  me,  that  life  would  be  a  worthless 
,  thing  to  me.  You  should  have  permitted  me  the  privilege 
of  death,"  said  he  bitterly. 

**  The  privilege  of  death  I"  said  Mr.  Norton.  ** Don't 
you  know,  my  dear  sir,  that  a  man  unprepared  to  live,  is  also 
unprepared  to  die  ?  Every  effort  I  have  put  forth  during 
your  illness  has  been  for  the  purpose  of  saving  you  for  a 
happy  life  here,  and  for  a  blissful  immortality." 

"A  happy  life  here  I  For  me,  who  have  deeply  offended 
and  disgraced  my  friends  and  my  pure  and  unstained 
ancestry  I"  ^*" 

**Itis  true,  in  an  hour  of  weakness  and  irresolution, 
you  have  sinned  against  your  friends.  But  you  have  sin- 
ned all  your  life  against  a  Being  infinitely  higher  that 
earthly  friends.  Your  conduct  has  disturbed  family  pride 
and  honor,  and  thereby  destroyed  your  peace.    But,  do 


1  I 


MIRAMICHI. 


113 


jou  never  think  of  your  transgressions  against  God?  For 
a  world,  I  w.uld  not  have  had  you  present  yourself  before 
His  just  tribunal,  with  your  sins  against  Him  unrepented 
of.  Is  there  no  other  thought  in  your  heart,  than  to  escape 
the  misery  of  the  present?" 

Mr.  Brown  was  silent.     Mr.  Norton  continued. 

*<It  is  utter  weakness  and  cowardice,  in  order  to  escape 
present  discomfort  and  wretchedness,  to  rush  from  this 
world  into  another,  without  knowing  what  we  are  to  meet 
there."  ^    "  .  • 

A  flush  of  resentment  at  these  words  covered  the  in- 
yaUd's  face.  Just  then  Adele  knocked  on  the  door,  and 
said  a  poor  woman  below  wished  to  see  Mr.  Norton. 

He  rose  instantly,  went  towards  Mr.  Brown,  and  tak- 
ing his  thin  hand  between  his  own  and  pressing  it  affec- 
tionately, said,  "Look  back  upon  your  past  life, — look 
into  your  heart.  Believe  me,  my  dear  sir,  I  am  your 
friend."  .         -     v 

Then  he  went  to  obey  the  summons,  and  Mr.  Brown 
was  left  alone.  ,-       , 

The  emotion  of  anger  towards  his  benefactor  soon  passed 
awayj  He  had  been  trained  early  in  life  to  religious  truth, 
and  he  knew  that  Mr.  Norton  presented  to  him  the  stern 
requisitions  of  that  truth,  only  in  friendliness  and  love. 
The  good  man  was  absent  several  hours,  and  the  time  was 
employed,  as  well  as  the  solitude  of  several  subsequent 
^JSf  by  Mr.  Brown,  in  looking  into  his  heart  and  into 
his  past  life.  He  found  there  many  things  he  had  not 
even  suspected.  He  saw  clearly,  that  he  had  hitherto  held 
10* 


114 


mRAMioin. 


himself  amenable  only  to  the  judgment  of  the  world.  Its 
standard  of  propriety,  taste,  honor,  hod  boon  his.  He  hod 
not  looked  higher. 

His  friend  Mr.  Norton,  on  the  contrary,  held  himself 
accountable  to  God's  tribunal.  His  whole  conversation, 
conduct,  and  spirit,  showed  the  ennobling  ofToct  which  that 
sublime  test  of  character  had  upon  him.  In  fine,  he  per- 
ceived that  the  basis  of  his  own  character  liad  been  false 
and  therefore  frail.  The  superstructure  ho  had  raised 
upon  it,  had  been  fair  and  imposing  to  the  world,  but, 
when  its  strength  came  to  be  tried,  it  hod  given  way  and 
fallen.  He  felt  that  he  had  neglected  his  true  interests, 
and  had  been  wholly  indifferent  to  tho  just  claims  of  the 
only  Being,  who  could  have  sustained  him  in  the  hour  of 
temptation.  He  saw  his  past  errors,  ho  moaned  over 
them,  but  alas !  he  considered  it  too  late  to  repair  them. 
His  life,  he  believed  to  be  irretrievably  lost,  and  ho 
wished  only  to  commit  himself  to  tho  mercy  of  God,  and 
die.  ^      '    "^ 

For  a  few  days,  he  remained  rosorvod  and  sunk  in  a 
deep  melancholy. 

At  length,  Mr.  Norton  said  to  him,  **  I  trust  you  are  not 
offended  with  me,  my  dear  sir,  for  those  plain  words  I  ad- 
dressed to  you  the  other  day.  Bo  ossurod  that  though 
stern,  they  were  dictated  by  my  friendship  for  you  and  my 
duty  towards  God." 

"Offended  I  my  good  friend.  O  no.  What  you 
said,  is  true.  But  it  is  too  late  for  mo  to  know  it. 
Through  the  merits  of  Christ,  I  hope  for  the  pardon  of  my 


MIRAMIOm. 


115 


are  not 

ds  I  ad- 

though 

andmj 

lat  you 

now  it. 

tt  of  my 

'^^  -^i 

txnB,  I  am  willing  to  live  and  suffer,  if  it  is  His  behest. 
But  you  perceive  my  power  to  act  for  the  cause  of  truth 
is  gone.  My  past  has  taken  away  all  good  influence  from 
my  future  course.  Who  will  accept  my  testimony  now? 
I  have  probably  lost  caste  in  my  own  circle,  and  have, 
doubtless,  lost  my  power  to  influence  it,  even  should  I  be 
received  back  to  its  ties.  In  society,  I  am  a  dishonored 
man.  I  cannot  have  the  happiness  of  working  for  the 
truth,  — for  Christ.     My  power  is  destroyed." 

**  You  are  wrong,  entirely  wrong,  my  dear  sir.  Have 
courage.  Shall  not  that  man  walk  erect  and  joyous  before 
the  whole  world,  whatever  his  past  may  have  been,  whose 
sins  have  been  washed  away  in  the  blood  of  Christ  and 
whose  soul  is  inspired  by  a  determination  to  abide  by  faith 
in  Him  forever?  I  say,  yes.  Do  the  work  of  God.  Ho 
will  take  care  of  you.  Live,  with  your  eye  fixed  on  Him, 
ready  to  obey  His  will,  seeking  His  heavenly  aid,  and  you 
can  face  the  frowns  of  men,  while  serene  peace  fills  your 
heart*"  •     j      ; 

Thus  cheered  and  strengthened  from  day  to  day,  Mr. 
Brown  gained  gradually  in  health  and  hope.  Especially 
did  Mr.  Norton  strive  to  invigorate  his  faith.  He  justly 
thought,  it  was  only  a  strong  grasp  on  eternal  realities, 
that  could  supply  the  place  of  those  granite  qualities  of 
the  soul,  so  lacking  in  this  lovable,  fascinating  young 


man. 


:.i    '.t..|ii      1*. !»!'.• 


■!:    '  i'r- 


CHAPTER   Xm. 


THE  QROVE. 


In  the  meanwhile,  three  or  four  timca  during  the  week, 
Mr.  Norton  continued  to  hold  meetings  for  the  people  in 
Micah*8  Grove. 

There  had  been  but  little  rain  in  the  Miramichi  region 
during  the  summer  and  autumn.  In  fact,  none  worthy  of  <^ 
note  had  fallen  for  two  months,  except  what  came  during 
the  late  equinoctial  storm.  The  grass  was  parched  with 
heat,  the  roads  were  ground  to  a  fine  dust,  which  a  breath 
of  wind  drove,  like  clouds  of  smoke,  into  the  burning  air ; 
the  forest  leaves,  which  had  he&a.  so  recently  stained  with  a 
marvellous  beauty  of  brown,  crimson  and  gold,  became  dim 
and  shrivelled;  a  slight  touch  snapped,  with,  a  sharp, 
crackling  sound,  the  dried  branches  of  the  trees ;  even  the 
golden  rod  and  the  purple  aster,  those  hardy  children 
of  autu ''n,  began  to  han^  their  heads  with  thirst.  All 
day  long,  the  grasshopper  and  locust  sent  through  the 
hot,  panting  air,  their  shrill  notes,  stinging  the  eai  ..  11' 
discord.  The  heaven  above  looked  like  a  dome  of  ory^, 
and  a  thin,  filmy  smoke  gathered  around  the  horizon. 

Even  the  rude  settlers,  with  nerves  toughened  by  hard- 
ship, unsusceptible  of  atmospheric  changes,  were  oppressed 
by  the  long,  ders^'  'tin/r  drought. 


MIRAMTCIBI. 


117 


It  waa  only  when  the  shadows  of  afternoon  began  tp 
lengthen  and  the  sun's  rays  to  strike  obliquely  tlu'ough  the 
stately  trees  of  the  Grove,  that  tliey  vveio  able  to  gather 
there  and  listen  to  the  voice  of  the  mi.  sionary.  lie  liiwl  so 
far  succeeded  in  Iiis  work,  as  to  be  able  to  draw  tke  people 
togctbor,  from  a  considerable  distance  around,  and  their 
niiji''j<u- ir  Teased  daily. 

Od  the  opposite  bank  of  the  river,  half  way  up  a  slight 
emu  .nee,  stood  a  small  stone  chapel.  Tasteful  and  elegant 
in  itn  proportions,  it  presented  a  pictaresque  and  attractive 
appoarance.  There,  once  on  each  Sunday,  the  service  of 
the  Church  of  England  was  read,  together  with  a  brief  dis- 
course by  a  clergyman  of  that  order. 

Behind  the  chapel,  and  near  the  top  of  the  hill,  was 
a  large  stone  cottage  surrounded  by  pretty  grounds  and 
with  ample  stable  conveniences.     It  was  the  Rectory. 

The  Chapel  and  Rectory  had  been  built  and  ^e  cler- 
gyman was  sustained,  at  a  somewhat  large  cost,  by  the 
Establishment,  for  the  purpose  of  enlightening  and  Chris- 
tianizing the  population  of  the  parish  of  . 

Unfortunately,  the  incumbent  was  not  the* self-sacrificing 
person  needed  to  elevate  such  a  community.  Though 
ministering  at  the  altar  of  God,  he  had  no  true  religious 
fe^^^ing,  no  disinterested  love  for  men.  He  was  simply  a 
man  of  the  world,  a  hon  vivanf,  a  horse  jockey  and  sports- 
man, who  consoled  himself  in  the  summer  and  autumn 
for  his  exile  in  that  barbarous  region,  by  filling  his  house 
with  provincial  friends,  who  helped  him  while  away  the 
time  in  fishing,  hunting,  and  racing.     The  winter  months, 


I 


118 


MIRAMICHI. 


he  usually  spent  at  Fredericton,  and  during  that  interval 
no  service  was  held  in  the  chapel.  Of  late,  the  few,  who 
were  in  the  hahit  of  attending  the  formal  worship  there, 
had  forsaken  it  for  the  more  animating  services  held  in  the 
Grove. 

Not  only  the  habitual  chiu'ch-goers,  but  the  people  of 
the  parish  at  large,  began  to  feel  the  magnetizing  influence, 
and  were  drawn  towards  the  same  spot.  For  a  week  or 
more  past,  late  in  the  afternoons  on  which  the  meetings 
were  held,  little  skiffs  might  have  been  seen  putting  off 
from  the  opposite  shore,  freighted  with  men,  womeif,  and 
children,  crossing  over  to  hear  the  wonderful  preaching? 
of  the  missionaTy. 

What  attracted  them  thither?  Not  surely  the  love  of 
the  truth. 

Most  of  them  disliked  it  in  their  hearts,  and  had  not  even 
be'gan  tD  think  of  practising  it  in  their  lives.  They  were 
interested  in  the  man.  They  were,  in  some  sort,  compel- 
led by  the  magical  power  he  held  over  them,  to  listen  to 
entreaties  and  counsels,  similar  to  those  to  which  they  had 
often  hitherto  turned  a  deaf  ear.  ^      .     ,>* 

3VIr.  Norton  spent  much  of  the  time  with  them,  going 
from  house  to  house,  partaking  of  their  rude  fare,  sym- 
pathizing in  their  joys  and  sorrows,  occasionally  lending 
them  a  helping  hand  in  their  toils,  and  aiding  them  some- 
times by  his  ingenuity  and  skill  as  an  artisan.  They 
found  in  him  a  hearty,  genial,  and  unselfish  friend.  Hence 
when  he  appeared  among  them  at  the  Grove,  their  personal 
interest  in  him  secured  a  certain  degree,  of  order  and  deco- 
rum, and  caused  them  to  list^'^  to  him  respectfully. 


MIBAMICBI. 


119 


Even  beyond  this,  he  held  a  power  over  them,  by  means 
of  his  natural  and  persuasive  eloquence,  enlivened  by  varied 
and  graphic  illustrations,  drawn  from  objects  within  their 
ken,  and  by  the  wonderful  intonations  of  his  powerful  and 
harmonious  voice.  He  began  his  work  by  presenting  to 
them  the  love  of  Christ  and  the  winning  promises  of  the 
gospel.  •  , 

This  was  his  favorite  mode  of  reaching  the  heart. 

On  most  of  these  occasions,  Adele  went  to  the  Grove. 
It  varied  her  monotonous  life.  The  strange,  motley  crowd 
gathered  under  the  magnificent  trees,  sitting  on  the  ground, 
or  standing-  in  groups  beneath  the  tall  arches  made  by  the 
overlapping  boughs ;  the  level  rays  pf  the  declining .  sun, 
bringing  out,  in  broad  relief,  their  grotesque  varieties  of 
costume ;  the  gradual  creeping  on  of  the  sobering  twilight ; 
the  alternating  expressions  of  emotions  visible  on  the 
countenances  of  the  listeners,  made  the  scene  striking  to 
her  observing  eye. 

Another  burning,  dusty  day  had  culminated.  It  was 
nearly  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  Mr.  Norton  was  lying 
upon  a  lounge  in  Mr.  Brown's  apartment.  Both  gentle- 
men appeared  to  be  in  a  meditative  mood.  The  silence 
was  only  interrupted  by  the  unusudl  sound  of  an  occasional 
sigh  from  the  missionary. 

*'  Why  I  friend  Norton ; "  at  length  exclaimed  Mr.  Brown, 
**  have  you  really  lost  your  cheerfulness,  at  last?" 

**  Yes, "  replied  Mr.  Norton,  slowly.  "I  must  confess 
that  I  am  wellnigh  discouraged  respecting  the  reformation 
of  thi»  people.    Here,  I  have  been  preaching  to  them  these 


i^^mJKSMSSM 


r 


120 


MIBAllIOHI. 


weeks  the  gospel  of  love,  presenting  Christ  to  them  as 
their  friend  and  Saviour,  holding  up  the  truth  in  its  most 
lovely  and  winning  forms.  It  has  apparently  made  no 
impression  upon  their  hearts.  It  is  true,  they  come  in 
crowds  to  hear  me,  but  what  I  say  to  them  makes  no  per- 
manent mark.  They  forget  it,  the  moment  the  echo  of  my 
voice  dies  upon  their  ears.  The  fact  is,  friend  ^rown,  I 
am  disappointed.  I  did  hope  the  Lord  would  have  given 
this  people  unto  me.  But,"  continued  he,  after  a  mo- 
ment's pause,  <*  what  right  have  I  to  be  desponding?   God 


reigns. 


(( 


» 


According  to  all  accounts,"  replied  Mr.  Brown,  "  they 
must  be  a  hard  set  to  deal  with,  both  mentally  and  mor- 
ally. I  should  judge,  from  what  Miss  Adele  tells  me  of 
your  instructions,  that  you  have  not  put-  them  upon  the 
same  rigid  regimen  of  law  and  truth,  that  you  may  remember 
you  prescribed  for  my  spiritual  cure."  Mr.  Brown  smiled. 
**  Perhaps,"  he  continued,  "  these  men  arc  not  capable  of 
appreciating  the  mild  aspect  of  mercy.  They  do  not  pos- 
sess the  susceptibility  to  which  you  have  been  appealing. 
They  need  to  have  the  terrors  of  the  law  preached  to  them.* 

**  Ah  I  that  is  it,  friend  Brown,  you  have  it.  I  am  con- 
vinced it  is  so.  I  have  felt  it  for  several  days  past.  But 
I  do  dislike,  extremely,  to  endeavor  to  chain  them  to  the 
truth  by  fear.  Love  is  so  much  more  noble  a  passion  to  ,, 
enlist  for  Clu-ist.  Yet  they  nmst  be  drawn  by  some  motive 
from  their  sins.  Love  often  follows  in  the  wake  and  casts  v. 
out  fear." 

"I  remember,"  said  Mr.  Brown,  "to  have  heard  Mr. 


MIRABHOm. 


121 


N— — ,  the  famous  Maine  lumber-merchant,  who  you 
know  Is  an  infidel,  say  that  the  only  way  the  lumbermen 
can  be  kept  from  stealing  each  other's  logs,  is  by  preach- 
ing to  them  eternal  punishment." 

"  No  doubt  it  is  true,  "  replied  the  good  man,  **  and  if 
these  souls  cannot  be  sweetly  constrained  into  the  beautiful 
fields  of  peace,  they  must  be  compelled  into  them  by  the 
terrors  of  that  death  that  hangs  over  the  transgressor.  Be- 
sides, I  feel  a  strong  presentiment  that  sQme  great  judg- 
ment is  about  to  descend  upon  this  people.  All  day,  the 
thought  has  weighed  upon  me  Hke  au.  incubus.  I  cannot 
shake  it  off.  Something  terrible  is  in  store  for  them. 
What  it  may  be,  I  know  not.  But  I  am  impressed  with 
the  duty  of  preaching  a  judgment  to  come  to  them,  this 
very  afternoon.     I  will  do  it." 

A  slight  rattling  of  dishes  at  the  door  aidiounced  the  ar- 
rival ?  Bess,  with  a  tray  of  refreshment. for  Mr.  Brown, 
and,  at  the  same  moment,  the  tinkling  of  a  bell  below^ 
summoned  Mr.  Norton  to  the  table. 

Half  an  hour  later,  the  missionary,  with  a  slow  pace  and 
the  air  of  one  oppressed  with  a  great  burden,  walked  to 
the  Grove.  He  seated  himself  on  a  rustic  bench  and  with 
his  head  resting  on  the  trunk  of  an  immense  elm,  which 
overshadowed  him,  sat  absorbed  i  i  earnest  thought,  while 
the  people  gathered  in  a  crowd  around  him. 

At  length,  the  murmuring  voices  were  hushed  into 
quiet.  He  rose,  took  up  his  pocket  Testament,  read  a  por- 
tion of  the  tenth  chapter  of  Hebrews,  offered  a  prayer, 


11 


122 


MIBAMICHX. 


and  then  sang  in  his  trumpet  tones,  Charles  Wesley's 
magnificently  solemn  hymn,  commencing, — 


:<<'■'. 


.•  i  **Lo!  on  a  narrow  neck  of  land 

^Twixt  two  unbounded  seas,  I  stand 

:,  V:. 

Secure !  insensible !  " 

« 

He  then  repeated  a  clause  in  the  chapter  he  had  just 
read  to  them.  "If  we  sin  wilfully  after  that  we  have 
received  a  knowledge  of  the  truth,  there  remaineth  no 
more  sacrifice  for  sins,  but  a  certain  fearful .  looking  for 
of  judgment  and  fiery  indignation,  which  shall  devour  the 
adversaries." 

He  began  his  discourse  by  reminding  the  people  of  the 
truths  he  had  presented  to  thera  during  the  weeks  past. 
He  had  told  thera  faithfully  of  their  sinfulness  before  a 
holy  God,  and  pointed  out  the  way  of  safety  and  purifica- 
tion through  a  Crucified  Saviour.  And  he  had  earnestly 
sought  to  induce  them,  by  the  love  thi ;  Saviour  bore  them, 
to  forsake  their  transgressions  and  exercise  trust  in  Him. 
He  now  told  them,  in  accents  broken  with  grief,  that  he 
had  every  reason  to  fear  they  had  not  followed  his  counsel, 
and  observing  their  hardness  of  heart,  he  felt  constrained 
to  bring  them  another  and  different  message, —  a  message 
less  tender,  but  coming  from  "the  same  divine  source.  He 
then  unfolded  to  them  the  wrath  of  the  Most  High,  kindled 
against  those  who  scorn  the  voice  of  mercy  from  a  dying 
Saviour. 

They  listened  intently.  His  voice,  his  manner,  his 
words  electrified  them.     His  countenance  was  illumined 


IIIBAMICIII. 


123 


with  an  awlU  light,  isuch  as  they  had  not  before  witnessed 
there.  His  eyo  ihot  out  prophetic  meanings.  At  the 
close,  he  isiaid,  in  a  low  tone,  like  the  murmur  of  distant 
thunder,  **  what  I  have  told  you,  is  true, —  true,  as  that  we 
stand  on  this  solid  ground, —  true,  as  that  sky  that  bends 
above  us.  This  book  says  it.  It  is,  therefore,  eternal 
truth.  I  have  it  impressed  upon  my  mind,  that  a  judg- 
ment, a  swift,  tremendous  judgment,  is  about  to  descend 
upon  this  people  on  account  of  their  sins.  I  cannot  shake 
off  this  impression,  and,  under  its  power,  I  warn  you  to 
prepare  your  souls  to  meet  some  dreadful  calamity. 

I  know  not  how  it  will  come, — in  what  shape,  with 
what  power.  But  1  feel  that  death  is  near.  It  seems  to 
me  that  I  see  many  before  me,  who  will  soon  be  beyond 
the  bounds  of  time.  1  feel  constrained  to  say  this  to  you. 
I  beg  you  prepare  to  meet  your  God." 

When  be  eeosed,  a  visible  shudder  ran  through  the 
multitude.  They  rose  slowly  and  wended  their  way  home- 
ward, many  with  blanched  faces,  and  even  the  hardiest 
with  a  vague  mme  of  lome  startling  event  impending. 


& 


C        '    ' 


.,   > 


'  >>•■. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


1^.!" 


SOtllt  Amy  CMBMl. 


At  four  o^aUmk  In  tlie  ftftenioon  on  the  following  day 
Mrs.  DuboU  mi  in  tlio  Mfldonna  room.  Her  fingers  were 
employed  upon  a  l>jfc  of  (aquwitc  embroidery,  over  which 
she  bent  with  a  {umiractcd  brow,  as  if  her  mind  was 
filled  with  an%\owi  ik/ught. 

Ad^le,  robed  i»  &  Vrenah  »ilk  of  delicate  blue,  her  rich, 
dark  Imlr  looped  up  'm  tnomivc  braids,  sat  listlessly,  poring 
over  a  volume  of  old  French  romance. 

Suddenly  vUinfUt  nho  threw  it  hastily  aside,  exclaiming 
as  she  went  towttnl^  an  (i|)cn  window,  **  O I  this  intermin- 
able drought  t  It  mttkm  mo  feci  so  miserable  and  restless. 
Does  it  not  opprei*  you,  ma  chtre  mire  ?  " 

Mrs.  DuboU  itorkd  suddenly,  as  Adele  spoke. 

**  Ah  I  yes,     It  i«  \ery  wearisome,"  she  replied. 

**  Ma  mirff,  I  have  disturbed  you.  Of  what  were  you 
thinking  when  I  ipoke'/" 

**  Thinking  of  i\ui  chateau  dc  Rossillon  and  its  inmates. 
It  is  very  long  Mitim  we  have  had  news  of  them.  I  am 
much  troubled  ftbont  the  dear  friends.  It  would  be  like 
rain  on  tlw  pnreM  gnmnd,  could  I  once  more  hear  my 
uncle's  voice.    Tli§  go^xl,  kmd  old  man !  '* 


<  t 


MIRAMICHI. 


125 


"Never  fear,  ma  mere.  You  shall  hear  it.  I  have  a 
plan  that  will  soon  take  us  all  to  Picardy.  You  smile,  but 
do  I  not  accomplish  my  little  schemes  ?  Do  not  ask  me, 
please,  how  I  shall  do  it.  The  expedition  is  not  wholly 
matured." 

"  Not  wholly  matured,  indeed  I  "  said  Mrs  Dubois,  with 
an  incredulous  smile. 

"Nevertheless,  it  will  take  place,  ma  mere.  But  not 
this  week.  In  the  meantime,  I  am  going  to  invite  the 
gentlemen,  who  are  doubtless  moping  in  Mr.  Brown's 
V  room,  as  we  are  here,  to  come  in  and  examine  that  curi- 
ously illuminated  missal  of  yours.  How  agreeable  Mr. 
Brown  is,  now  that  he  is  getting  well !  Don't  you  think 
so  ?  And  Mr.  Norton  is  as  good  and  radiant  as  a  seraph  I 
No  doubt,  they  are  pining  with  homesickness,  just  as  you 
are,  and  will  be  glad  of  our  society." 

Adele  left  the  room,  and  soon  returned,  accompanied  by 
the  two  individuals,  of  whom  she  had  gone  in  search. 

She  placed  Mr.  Brown,  who  looked  quite  superb  in  his 
brilliantly  flowered  dressing-gown,  in  a  comer  of  a  sofa. 
Having  examined  the  missal  with  interest,  for  a  time,  he^ 
handed  it  to  Mr.  Norton  and  was  soon  engaged  in  an  ani- 
mated conversation  with  Mrs.  Dubois,  respecting  various 
works  of  ancient  art,  they  hadljoth  seen  in  Europe. 

Adele  watched  with  pleasure  the  light  kindling  in  her 
mother's  eyes,  as  she  went  back,  in  memory  and  thought, 
to  other  days. 

Mr.  Norton   gazed  at  his  friend  Brown,  transfigured 
suddenly  from  the  despairing  invalid,  who  had  lost  all  inter- 
11* 


isi 


•.«ft 


m 


Xu 


126 


MTRAMTOHI. 


est  in  life,  to  the  animated  being  before  hini)  with  traces 
indeed  of  languor  and  disease  upon  his  person,  but  glowing 
now  with  life,  thought,  and  emotion.  "  A  precious  jewel 
gathered  for  the  crown  of  Him,  who  sits  on  the  throne 
above,"  he  whispered  to  himself. 

Fehcitating  himself  with  this  thought,  he  divided  his 
attention  between  the  conversation  of  Mrs.  Dubois  and 
Mr.  Brown,  and  the  marvels  of  skill,  labor,  and  beauty 
traced  by  the  old  monk  upon  the  pages  before  him. 

<*Imust  say.  Miss  Adele,  that  these  lines  and  colors 
are  put  on  most  ingeniously.  But  I  cannot  help  thinking 
those  ancient  men  might  have  been  better  employed  in  trac- 
ing the  characters  of  divine  truth  upon  the  hearts  of  their 
fellow-beings." 

"True,"  said  Adele,  "had  they  been  free  to  do  it. 
But  they  were  shut  up  from  the  world  and  could  not, 
Bluminating  missals  was  far  better  than  to  pass  their  lives 
in  perfect  idleness  and  inanition." 

"Don't  you  think, my  dear,"  said  the  missionary,  who 
had  wisely  never  before  questioned  any  laember  of  the 

k 

family  on  the  points  of  religious  faith,  "  that  the  cloister 
life  was  a  strange  one  to  live,  for  men  who  professed  to 
have  the  love  of  God  in  their  hearts,  with  a  whole  world 
lying  in  sin  around  them,  for  a  field  to  labor  in  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  do,  and  I  think  too  many  other  things  are 
wrong  about  the  Roman  Church,  but  it  pains  my  mother 
to  hear  me  speak  of  them,"  said  Adele,  in  a  low  tone, 
glancing  at  her  mother. 

"Is  it  so ? "  exclaimed  the  good  man.    His  face  lighted 


MnUMIOHI. 


127 


up  with  a  secret  satisfactioii.  But  he  fixed  hia  eyes  upou 
the  book  and  was  silent. 

Just  then,  some  one  knocked  on  the  parlor  door.  Ad^le 
opened  it  and  beheld  Mrs.  McNab,  —  her  broad  figure 
adorned  with  the  brilliant  chintz  dress  and  yellow  bandanna 
handkerchief,  filling  up  the  entire  doorway,  and  her  face 
surrounded  by  the  wide,  full  frill,  its  usual  framework, 
expressing  a  curious  mixture  of  shyness  and  audacity. 

It  was  her  first  call  at  the  house,  since  Ad^le's  summary 
process  of  ejection  had  been  served  upon  her,  and  it  was 
not  until  that  young  lady  had  welcomed  her  cordially  and 
invited  her  to  come  in,  that  she  ventured  beyond  the 
.threshold.  She  then  came  forward,  made  a  low  courtesy, 
and  seating  herself  near  the  door,  remarked  that  Bess  was 
not  below,  and  hearing  voices  in  the  picture  parlor,  wishing 
to  hear  from  the  patient,  she  had  ventured  up. 

"An'  how  do  ye  find  yersel*  Mr.  Brown?"  said  she, 
turning  to  that  gentleman.  "  But  I  needna  ask  the  ques- 
tion, sin'  yer  looks  tell  ye're  amaist  weel." 

Mr.  Brown  assented  to  her  remark  upon  his  health,  and 
expressed  to  her  his  obligations  for  her  attentions  to  him 
during  his  illness. 

"Them's  naethin;"  she  replied  with  a  conscious  air  of 
benevolence.  **'Tis  the  buzziuess  o'  my  life  to  tak'  care 
o'  sick  bodies." 

"How  are  JMrs.  Campbell's  children?"  inquired  Mrs. 
Dubois.         • 

"  All  got  weel,  but  Katy.     She's  mizerble  eneugh." 

"Has  she  not  recovered  from  the  measles,  Mrs.  Mc- 
Nab?" 


128 


MIBAMIOHI. 


**  The  measles  are  gone,  but  sunthln'  has  settled  on  her 
lights.  She  coughs  like  a  woodchuok.  An'  I  must  be  a 
goin',  for  I  tolo  Mrs.  Cawmell,  I  wadna  stay  a  bit,  but 
wad  come  back,  immediate." 

As  she  rose  to  go,  she  caught  a  sight  of  several  objects 
on  the  lawn  below,  that  rooted  her  to  the  spot. 

<*  Why  ther's  Mummychog,"  she  exclaimed,  **  loading  a 
gran'  black  charger,  wi'  a  tall  bravo  youth  a  walkin'  by 
his  side.     Wha  can  he  be? " 

At  that  moment  a  low,  clear  laugh  rang  out  upon  the 
air,  reaching  the  ears  of  the,  little  company  assembled  in 
the  parlor. 

At  the  sound,  Mr.  Brown's  pale  face  changed  to  a  peri- 
fectly  ashen  hue,  then  flushed  to  a  deep  crimson.  He 
started  to  his  feet,  and  exclaimed,  *' John  Lansdownet 
brave  fellow !  "   , 

It  was  even  so.  John  and  Ciesar  had  reac  1  ;3d  their 
destination.  — 

)    ■"  .       ■  -    ■     -i:J?l' 


»  '.  .   ,  rf . . 


CHAPTER  XV. 


TBAVELLIXa  IN  NEW  BRUNSWICK. 

The  following  morning,  Mr.  Norton,  Mr.  Somers,  alias 
Mr.  Brown  and  John  Lansdowne  were  sitting  together, 
talking  of  the  route  from  to  Miramichi. 

"You  must  have  had  a  tedious  journey,  Mr.  Lans- 
downe," observed  the  missionary. 

"  By  no  means,  sir.  Never  had  a  more  glorious  time  in 
my  life.  The  reach  through  the  forest  was  magnificent. 
By  the  way,  Ned,  I  shot  a  wolf.  I  '11  tell  you  how  it  was, 
sometime.  But  how  soon  shall  you  feel  able  to  start  for 
home?" 

**In  two  or  three  weeks.  Dr.  Wright  says,"  replied 
Mr.  Somers. 

"  You  must  not  take  the  road  again,  young  gentleman," 
remarked  Mr.  Norton,  "  until  we  have  had^afall  of  rain. 
The  country  is  scorched  with  heat  beyond  anything  I 
ever  knew.  Fine  scenery  on  the  St.  John  River,  Mr. 
Lansdowne." 

.  .  "  Wonderfully  fine  and  varied  I  Like  the  unfolding  of  a 
splendid  panorama  I  In  fact,  it  nearly  consoled  me  for  the 
sleepless  nights  and  horribly  cooked  dinners." 

**  Ah !  well—.     I  Ve  had  some  experience  while  pasbing 


130 


HIRAMIOHI. 


Up  and  down  in  these  parts.  *  In  some  localities,  the  coun- 
try is  pretty  well  populated,"  said  Mr.  Norton  with  a  brood 
smile.  ;  .  \    . 

**  I  can  certify  to  that  geographical  fact,"  said  John 
laughing.  **  One  night,  after  retiring,  I  found  that  a  large 
and  active  family  of  mice  had  taken  previous  shares  in  the 
straw  cot  furnished  me.  A  stirring  tunc,  they  had,  I  assure 
you.  The  following  night,  I  was  roused  up  from  a  ten 
horse-power  slumber,  by  a  little  million  of  enterprising 
insects,—  well, —  their  style  of  locomotion,  though  irregu- 
lar, accomplishes  remarkable  results.  By  the  way,  I  doubt 
that  story  of  a  pair  of  fleas,  harnessed  into  a  tiny  chariot 
and  broken  into  a  trot." 

"  So  do  I,"  said  Mr.  Norton.  <"Tis  a  libel  on  them. 
They  couldn't  go  such  a  humdrum  gait." 

**  That  reminds  me,"  said  Mr.  Somers,  "of  a  very 
curious  and  original  painting  I  saw  in  England.  It  repre- 
sented the  ghost  of  a  flea." 

*'  Bidiculous  I "  exclaimed  John.  **  You  are  romancing, 
Ned." 

<<I  am  stating  a  fact.  It  was  painted  by  that  eccen- 
tric genius,  Blake,  upon  a  panel,  and  exhibited  to  me  by 
an  aquaintance,  who  was  a  friend  of  the  artist." 

**  What  was  it  like?"  said  John. 

**  It  was  a  naked  figure  with  a  strong  body  and  a  short 
neck,  with  burning  eyes  longing  for  moisture,  and  a  face 
worthy  of  a  murderer,  holding  a  bloody  cup  in  its  clawed 
hands,  out  of  which  it  seemed  eager  to  drink.  The  shape 
was  strange  enough  and  the  coloring  splendid,  •—  a  kind  of 


ICCRAMICHI. 


131 


glistening  green  and  dusky  gold,  —  beautifully  yamished. 
It  was  in  fact  the  Hpiritualization  of  a  flea." 

**  What  a  conception  ! "  exclaimed  Mr.  Norton.  *<  The 
artist's  imagination  must  have  been  stimulated  by  intense 
personal  sufferings  from  said  insect.  The  savage  little 
wretch.  How  did  you  manage  the  diet,  Mr.  Lansdowne?'* 
continued  the  missionary,  a  smile  twinkling  all  over  his 
face. 

*•  Ah  I  yes,  the  table  dliotc.  I  found  eggs  and  potatoes 
safe,  and  devoted  myself  to  them,  I  was  always  sure  to 
get  snagged,  when- 1  tried  anything  else." 

"  Verily,  there  is  room  for  improvement  in  the  mode  of 
living,  among  His  Majesty's  loyal  subjects  of  this  Prov- 
ince. I  should  say,  that  in  most  respects,  they  are  about 
half  a  century  behind  the  age,"  s.aid  Mr.  Norton. 

**  How  did  you  ascertain  I  was  here,  John?"  inquired 
Mr.  Somers. 

"  I  learned  at  Fredericton  that  you  had  left  with  Mr. 
Dubois,  arid  I  obtained  directions  there,  for  my  route. 
Really,"  added  John,  "you  are  fortunate  to  have  found 
such  an  establishment  as  this  to  be  laid  up  in." 

*'  Yes.  God  be  thanked  for  the  attention  and  care  re- 
ceived in  this  house  and  for  the  kindness  of  tliis  good 
friend,"  said  Mr.  Somers,  laying  his  hand  affectionately 
on  the  missionary's  arm.  .     > 

^'  But  this  Mummychog,"  said  John,  breaking  into  a 
clear,  musical  laugh,  "  that  I  came  across  last  night.  He 
is  a  curiosity.  That  of  course,  is  n't  his  real  name. 
What  is  it?"  •  : 


132 


MTRAMTCHI. 


"  He  goes  by  no  other  name  here,"  replied  Mr.  Norton. 
*'  I  met  him,"  said  John,  "  a  few  rods  from  here,  and  asked 
him  if  he  could  inform  me  where  Mr.   Dubois  lived. 

*  Well,  s  'pose  I  ken,'  he  said.     After  waiting  a  few  min- 
utes' for  some  direction,  and  none  forthcoming,  I  asked, 

*  wUl  you  have  the  goodness  to  show  me  the  house,  sir?  ' 

*  S  'pose  you  hev  particiler  business  there,'  he  inquired. 

*  Yes.     I  have,  sir.'     *  Well !  I  s'pose  ye  are  goin'  fur  to 
see  hur?^ 

"  *  Hur  I '  I  exclaimed,  my  mind  immediately  reverting  to 
the  worthy  ancient,  who  assisted  Aaron  in  holding  up  the 
hands  of  Moses  on  a  certain  occasion,  mentioned  in  the  old 
Testament.  '  Hur !  who  is  Hur  ?  I  am  in  pursuit  of  a 
gentleman, —  a  friend  of  mine.  I  know  no  other  person 
here.'  '  O  well  1  come  then;  I '11  show  ye.'  As  he  was 
walking  along  by  Caesar's  side,  I  heard  him  say,  apparently 
to  himself,  '  He 's  a  gone  'un,  any  way.'  "  >^ 

"  He  is  a  queer  specimen,"  said  Mr.  Norton.  "And 
now  I  think  of  it,  Mr.  Somers,  Micah  told  me  this  morn- 
ing, that  a  good  horse  will  be  brought  into  the  settlement, 
by  a  friend  of  his,  in  about  a  week.  He  thinks,  if  you 
like  the  animal,  he  can  make  a  bargain  and  get  it  for  you." 

**  Thank  you  for  your  trouble  about  it,  my  dear  sir," 
replied  Mr.  Somers. 

**  Two  weeks  then,  Ned,"  said  John,  **  before  the  Doc- 
tor will  let  you  start.  That  will  give  me  ample  opportu- 
nity to  explore  the  length  of  the  Miramichi  River.  What 
are  the  fishing  privileges  in  this  region? "  S    v  '. 

**  Fine, — remarkably  good  I "  said  the  missionary. 


MIBAMICHI. 


133 


In  the  course  of  a  few  minutes,  John,  with  the  assistance 
of  Mr.  Norton,  arranged  a  plan  for  a  fishing  and  hunting 
excursion,  upon  which,  if  Micah's  services  could  be  obtain- 
ed, he  was  to  start  the  next  day. 

After  inquiring  for  the  most  feasible  way  of  transmit- 
ting a  letter,  he  retired  to  relieve  the  anxiety  of  his  parents 
by  informing  them  of  the  success  of  his  journey.  As 
might  have  been  expected,  after  a  somewhat  detailed 
account  of  his  travels,  the  remainder  of  his  epistle  home 
was  filled  with  the  effervescence  of  his  excitement  at 
having  found  Mr.  Somers,  and  thus  triumphantly  ac- 
complished the  object  of  his  expedition.  • 

Beneath  the  flash  and  foam  of  John's  youthful  spirit, 
there  were  depths  of  hidden  tenderness  and  truth.  He 
was  warmly  attached  to  his  uncle.  The  difference  in  age 
between  them  was  not  great,  and  even  that,  was  consid- 
erably diminished  by  the  peculiar  traits  of  each.  John  pos- 
sessed the  hardier  features  of  character.  He  had  developed 
a  strong,  determined  will  and  other  granite  qualities,  which 
promised  to  make  him  a  tower  of  defence  to  those  that 
might  shelter  themselves  beneath  his  wing.  Thepe  traits, 
contrasting  with  his  own,  Mr.  Somers  appreciated  and 
admired.  They  imparted  to  him  a  strengthening  in- 
fluence. John,  on  the  other  hand,  was  charmed  with  the 
genial  elisposition,  vhe  mobile  and  brilliant  intellect  of  his 
uncle,  and  the  ready  sympathy  he  extended  him  in  his 
pursuits.  In  short,  they  were  drawn  together  in  that 
peculiar,  but  not  uncommon  bond  of  friendship,  symbol- 
ized by  the  old  intimacy  of  the  ivy  and  the  oak. 

'   .    ■         12  ■"    :--^   -■*     ' 


J■;^*^       •■- 


>•(, 


"     f,'    ::      "UM 


C'-    }i 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


THE  FLOWER    UNFOLDING. 


Thebe  is  nothing  in  human  life  more  lovely  than  the 
transition  of  a  young  girl  from  childhood  into  womanhood. 
It  suggests  the  springtime  of  the  year,  when  the  leaf 
buds  are  partly  opened  and  the  tender  blossoms  wave  in 
the  genial  sunshine ;  when  the  colors  so  airy  and  delicate 
are  set  and  the  ethereal  odors  are  wafted  gently  to  the 
senses ;  when  earth  and  air  are  filled  with  sweet  prophe- 
cies of  the  ripened  splendor  of  summer.  It  is  like  the  mo- 
ments of  early  morn,  when  the  newly  risen  sun  throws 
abroad  his  light,  giving  token  of  the  majestic  glories  of  noon- 
day, while  the  earth  exhales  a  dewy  freshness  and 'the  air 
is  enchanted  by  the  songs  of  birds,  just  wakened  from  their 
nests.  It  recalls  the  overture  of  a  grand  musical  drama  in- 
troducing the  joyous  melodies,  the  wailing  minors,  the  noble 
chords  and  sublime  symphonies  of  the  glorious  harmony. 

The  development  of  llie  maiden  is  like  the  opening  of 
some  lovely  flower-bud.  As  life  unfolds,  the  tender  smile 
and  blush  of  chUdhood  mingle  with  the  grace  of  maidenly 
repose ;  the  upturned,  radiant  eye  gathers  new  depths  of 
thought  and  emotion;  the  delicate  features,  the  wavy, 
pliant  form,  begin  to  reveal  their  wealth  of  grace  and 
beauty.  >  .  -  ^^ 


MIBAMICHI. 


135 


Sometimes,  the  overstimulated  bud  is  forced  into  intense 
and  unnatural  life  and  bloom.  Sometimes,  the  develop- 
ment is  slow  and  almost  imperceptible.  Fed  gently  by 
the  light  and  dews  of  heaven,  the  flower,  at  length,  circles 
fo'*th  in  perfected  beauty.  Here,  the  airy  grace  and 
playfulness  of  a  Bosalind,  or  the  purity  ana  goodness  of 
a  Desdemona  is  developed ;  there,  the  intense,  passionate 
nature  of  a  Juliet,  or  the  rich  intellect  and  lofty  elegance 
of  a  Portia. 

But,  how  brief  is  that  bright  period  of  transition ! 
Scarcely  can  the  artist  catch  the  beautiful  creation  and 
transfer  it  to  the  canvas,  ere  it  has  changed,  or  faded. 


"How  small  a  part  of  time  they  share, 
That  are  so  wondrous  sweet  and  fair ! " 

Adele  Dubois  had  just  reached  this  period  of  life.  Her 
form  was  ripening  into  a  noble  and  statuesque  symmetry ; 
the  light  in  her  eyes  shot  forth  from  darkening  depths ; 
•  a  faint  bloom  was  creeping  into  her  cheek ;  a  soft  smile 
was  wreathing  those  lips,  wrought  by  nature,  into  a  some- 
what haughty  curve;  the  frank,  careless,  yet  imperious 
manner  was  chastening  into  a  calmer  grace ;  a  transform- 
ing glory  shone  around  her,  making  her  one  of  those 
visions  that  sometimes  waylay  and  haunt  a  man's  life 
forever. 

Her  physical  and  intellectual  growth  were  symmetrical. 
Her  mind  was  quick,  penetrative,  and  in  constant  exercise. 
Truthful  and  upright,  her  soul  shone  through  her  form  and 
features,  as  a  clear  flame,  placed  within  a  transparent  vase, 


136 


MIBAMIOHI. 


brings  out  the  adornments  of  flower,  leaf,  and  gem,  with 
which  it  is  enrichedc  r^.^  ■'-^' 

In  a  brown  stone  house,  in  the  city  of  P.,  State  of , 

there  hangs  in  one  of  the  chambers  a  picture  of  Adele, 
representing  her  as  she  was  at  this  period  of  her  life.  ,  It 
is  full  of  beauty  and  elegance.  Sun-painting  was  an  art 
unknown  in  the  days  when  it  was  executed.  But  the 
modem  photographist  could  hardly  have  produced  a  pic- 
ture so  exquisitely  truthful  as  well  as  lovely. 


W 


■    ■'■'i, 


*     -"*,•  *.'■» 


'  1 


■  ,   i's/ 


/  . 


u^ 


CHAPTER  XVn.  > 

THE  DEEB  HUNT. 

Eablt  In  tho  morning,  John  Lansdowue,  haying  donned 
his  bunting  iuit  and  taken  a  hasty  breakfast,  seized  his 
rifle  ftnd  joined  Micah,  ah-eady  waiting  for  him  on  the  lawn 
in  front  of  the  house.  :    v 

He  wa8  equipped  in  a  tunic-like  shirt  of  dressed  buck- 
»kin,  with  leggings  and  moccasins  of  the  same  material, 
each  curiouuly  embroidered  and  fringed.  The  suit  was  a 
present  from  his  mother,  —  procured  by  her  from  Canada. 
His  head  wag  surmounted  by  a  blue  military  cap  and  his 
belt  adorned  with  powder  pouch  and  hunting-knife.  Micah 
with  a  heavy  blanket  coat  of  a  dingy,  brown  color,  leg- 
gings of  embroidered  buckskin,  skull  cap  of  gray  fox  skin, 
and  Indian  moccasins ;  wore  at  his  belt  a  butcher  knife  in 
a  scabbard)  a  tomahawk,  otter-skin  pouch,  containing  bul- 
lets and  other  necessaries  for  such  an  expedition. 

In  the  dim  morning  light  they  walked  briskly  to  a  little 

cove  in  the  river,  where  Micah's  birchen  canoe  lay,  and 

found  it  already  stored  with  supplies  for  the  excursion. 

There  were  bag«  of  provisions,  cooking  utensils,  a  small 

tent,  neatly  folded,  Micah's  old  Dutch  rifle,  Ashing  tackle, 

and  other  artiolen  of  minor  account. 

12* 


138 


MlltAMIOni. 


**  Ever  tmvilad  mwh  In  n  mnoo?^  inquired  Micah. 

**  None  ftt  ttU/'  m\t\U;4\  thtUn, 

"  Well,  then  I'll  j<wt  mmikntf  ycou  need  n't  jump  into 
it,  like  ft  cuiMnmuui  fHin|i«gin'  nrtcr  fodder.  Yeou  step 
in  kinder  keerfwl  mu\  ittii  dcown  and  don't  move  reound 
more'n  ye  ken  ImjI[>»  lt*«  it  mighty  crank  little  critter,  I 
tell  ye.  '  T  wouI4  im  i4)lttl;le  unconvenient  to  upset  and  git 
eour  cargo  tuvmd  UiUi  iha  siroam." 

**It  would  intodl"  0ttid  John.  "I'll  obey  orders, 
Mummychog.'* 

John  entered  tlw  mme  with  tact,  apparently  to  Micah's 
satisfaction  and  mum  they  were  gliding  down  the  river, 
now,  owing  to  tlw  h>ttg-continucd  drought,  considerably 
shrunk  within  iin  hmUn,  '  ^^^ 

Just  a«  Wight  gttve  it/**  parting  salute  to  the  advancing 
day,  the  voyftgew  jMW«cd  into  a  region  densely  wooded 
down  to  the  wftterV  eilg«.  Oaks,  elms,  and  maples,  birches 
of  different  »oi?t§,  will(>w»  and  cranberry,  grew  in  wild 
•luxuriance  ftk»»g  tli^  trtftfgin,  tinged  with  the  rich  hues  of 
autumn,  AthoiWfliMl  «plcy  odors  exhaled  from  the  frost- 
bitten plants  ftnd  A\m\)^^  filling  the  senses  with  an  intoxi- 
cating incense,  VVIwtn  thw  rising  sun  shot  its  level  rays 
through  the  trees,  tlw  dear  stream  quivered  with  golden 
arrows. 

John  viewed  tlw  §€#tkJ»  th|;crugh  which  they  glided  with 
eager  eye, 

Micah'ii  counteofltiee  eiprcsscd  intense  satisfaction.  He 
sat  bolt  upright  \\\  tlw  wtcfii  of  the  canOe,  steering  with  his 
paddle,  his  keen  ImJkt  fiyc*  dancing  from  side  to  side  exam- 
ining every  object  ai  th^  passed  along.     Both  were  silent. 


MIRAMICniI. 


139 


At  length,  Micah  exclaimed,  "Well,  Captin*,  this  ia 
the  pootiest  way  of  livin'  I  know  on,  any  heow.  Jily  'pinion 
•  is  that  human  natur  was  meant  to  live  reound  on  rivers  and 
in  the  woods,  or  vyagin*  on  lakes,  and  sech.  I  never 
breathe  jest  nateral  and  lively,  till  I  git  eout  o'  between 
heouse  walls  into  the  free  air." 

*'  'T  is  a  glorious  life,  Micah  I  I  agree  to  it." 

* '  Hark  I  "  said  Micah  I  Got  yer  piece  ready  ?  Maybe 
you  '11  hev'  a  chance  to  bring  sumthin'  deown.  I  heerd  an 
old  squaw  holler  jest  neow." 

"I'm  ready,"  said  John.  "But  I  didn't  hear  any 
sound.     What  was  it  like  ? "  ■  • 

"01  kinder  a  scoldin'  seound.  Cawcawee  I  caw- 
cawee  I  Don't  yer  hear  the  cntter  reelin'  of  it  off  ?  Ha  I 
*tis  dyin*  away,  though.  We  shall  hear  it  agin,  by 
and  by." 

**  An  old  fequaw,"  said  John,  as  the  excitement  the 
prospect  of  a  shot  had  raised  in  his  mind  subsided.  "  Do 
you  have  such  game  as  that^  in  IVliramichi?  I've  heard 
of  witches  6ying  on  broomsticks  through  the  air,  but 
did  n't  know  before  that  squaws  are  in  the  habit  of  skylark- 
ing about  in  that  way."  .  ••..,, 

"Well,  ye '11  know  it  by  observation,  before  long," 
said  Micah,  with  a  slight  twitch  of  one  eye.  "Them's 
ducks  from  Canada,  a  goin'  south'ard,  as  they  allers  do  in 
the  fall  o'  the  year.  They  keep  up  that  ere  scoldin'  seound, 
day  and  night.  Cawcawee !  cawcawee  !  kind  of  an  aggra- 
vatin'  holler  I  Bmt  I  like  it,  ruther.  It  allers  'minds  me 
of  a  bustin'  good  feller  that  was  deown  here  from  Canada 


once. 


n 


140 


MIRAMICHI. 


**  How  remind  you  of  him? "  inquired  John. 

"  Well, •  he  cam'  deown  on  bissiniss,  but  he  ran  afowl 
o*  me,  and  we  was  eout  in  the  woods  together,  consid'able. 
He  used  to  set  eoutside  the  camp,  bright,  starlight 
nights,  and  sing  songs,  and  sech.  He  had  a  powerful, 
sweet  v'ice,  and  it  allers  'peared  to  me  as  ef  every  kind 

• 

of  a  livin*  thing  hushed  up  and  listened,  when  he  sung 
o*  nights.  He  could  reel  off  most  anything  you  can  think 
on.  There  was  one  kind  of  a  mournful  ditty  he  sung,  and 
once  in  a  while  he  brung  in  a  chorus,  —  cawcawee  I 
cawcawee,  — jest  like  what  them  ducks  say,  only,  the  way 
he  made  it  seound,  was  soft  and  meller  and  doleful-like.  J^ 
liked  to  hear  him  sing  that,  only  he  was  so  solemn  arter 
it,  and  would  set  and  fetch  up  great  long  sythes.  And 
once  I  asked  him  what  made  him  so  sober  and  take  on  so, 
arter  singin'  it.  He  said,  Micah,  my  good  lad,  when  I 
war  a  young  man,  I  had  a  little  French  wife,  that  could 
run  like  a  hind  and  sing  like  a  wild  bird.  Well,  she  died. 
The  very  last  thing  she  sung,  was,  that  'ere  song.  When 
I  see  how  he  felt,  I  never  asked  him  another  question. 
He  sot  and  sythed  a  spell  and  then  got  up,  took  a  most 
oncommon  swig  of  old  Jamaky  and  turned  into  his  blanket." 

Just  as  Micah  ended  this  account,  John  caught  sight  of 
a  large  bird  at  a  distance  directly  ahead  of  them,  and  his 
attention  became  entirely  absorbed.  It  took  flight  from  a 
partly  decayed  tree  on  the  northern  bank,  and  commenced 
wheeling  around,  above  the  water.  The  canoe  was  rapidly 
Bearing  this  promising  game.        ^'.    t-^:.  ■     'i;  ;  , 

Micah  said  not  a  word,  but  observed,  in  an  apparently 
careless  mood,  the  movements  of  his  young  companion. 


MIBAMICHI. 


141 


I  afowl 
Id'able. 
tarlight 
>werful, 
ry  kind 
Ke  sung 
m  think 
ng,  and 
'^cawee  I 
the  way 
like.    I 
m  arter 
^  -  And 
3. on  so, 
when  I 
kt  could 
le  died. 
When 
uestion. 
a  most 
lanket." 
sight  of 
and  his 
;  from  a 
imenced 
1  rapidly 

mrently 
uon. 


Suddenly,  the  bird  poised  himself  for  an  instant  in  the 
air,  then  closed  his  wings  a*^ '  shot  downward.  A  wliiz- 
zing  sound  1  then  a  plash,  and  he  disappeared  beneath  the 
surface,  throwing  up  the  water  into  spai'kling  foam- 
.  wreaths.  He  was  absent  but  a  moment,  and  then  bore 
upward  into  the  air  a  large  fish. 

John's  shot  took  him  on  the  wing,  and  he  dropped  dead, 
his  clav/s  yet  grasping  the  fish,  on  the  water's  edge. 

*'  Euther  harnsum  than  otherwise  1 "   exclaimed  Micah. 
**  You  've  got  your  dinner,  Captin'." 
»  And  he  put  the  canoe  rapidly  towards  the  river-bank,  to 
pick  up  the  game. 

They  found  it  to  be  a  large  fish-hawk,  with  a  good- 
sized  salmon  in  its  fierce  embrace.  It  was  a  noble  speci- 
men of  the  bird,  tinted  with  brown,  ashy  wliite,  and  blue, 
with  eyes  of  deep  orange  color. 

**  Well,  that  are  a  prize,"  said  Micah.  **  Them  birds 
ain't  common  in  these  parts,  bein'  as  they  mostly  live  on 
sea-coasts.  But  this  un  was  on  his  way  seouth,  and  his 
journey  has  ended  quite  unexpected." 

Saying  which,  he  threw  both  bird  and  fish  into  the 
canoe,  and  darted  forward  on  the  river  again. 

"When  shall  we  reach  the  deer  feeding-ground  you 
spoke  of,  Micah  ? 

"OI  not  afore  night,"  said  Micah.  "And  then  we 
must  n't  go  anyst  it  till  momin'.'''  '  -. 

**  I  suppose  you  have  brought  down  some  scores  of  deer 
in  your  hunting  raid?,  Micah?  " 

"  Why,  yes,  —  takin'  it  by  and  large,  I've  handled  over 


142 


MIBAMIOm. 


consid'able  many  of  'em.  'Tis  a  critter  I  hato  to  kill, 
Captin',  though  I  s'pose  it  seounds  soft  to  say  eo.  Ef 
't  wan't  for  thinkin'  they  '11  git  picked  off,  anyway,  I  dunno 
but  I  should  let  'em  alone  altogether."  tf 

"  Why  do  you  dislike  to  kill  them  ?  " 

"  Well,  to  begin  with,  they  're  a  harnsum  critter.  They 
hev  sech  graceful  ways  with  'em,  kinder  grand  ones  tew, 
specially  them  bucks,  with  their  crests  reared  up  agin  the 
sky,  lookin'  so  bold  and  free  like.  And  thorn  bright  little 
does,  —  sometimes  they  hev  sech  a  skoord,  tender  look  in 
their  eyes,  —  and  I  've  seen  the  tears  roll  out  on  'cm,  when 
they  lay  wounded  and  disabled  like,  jest  like  a  human i. 
critter.  It  allers  makes  me  feel  kind  o'  puggetty  to  see 
that."  ' 

They  made  a  noon  halt,  in  the  shadows  cast  by  a  clump 
of  silver  birches,  and  did  ample  justice  to  the  provision 
supplied  from  the  pantry  of  the  Dubois  house.  ^  ^'-    ' 

At  four  o'clock  they  proceeded  onward  towards  the 
deer  hunt.  John  listened  with  unwearied  interest  to 
Micah's  stories  of  peril  and  hair-breadth  'scapes,  by  flood, 
field,  and  forest,  gathering  many  valuable  hints  in  the 
science  of  woodcraft  from  the  practised  hunter. 

Just  at  dark,  they  reached  a  broad  part  of  the  stream, 
and  selected  their  camping-ground. 

The  tent  was  soon  pitched,  a  fire  of  brushwood  kindled 
and  the  salmon  broiled  to  a  relish  that  an  epicure  could 
not  have  cavilled  at.  The  table,  a  fiat  rock,  was  also 
garnished  with  white  French  rolls, .  sliced  ham,  brown 
bread,  blocks  of  savory  cheese,  and  tea,  smoking  hot. 


MTRAMTCaEn, 


143 


The  sylvan  scene, —  the  moon  shedding  its  light  around, 
the  low  music  of  the  gently  rippling  waves,  the  spicy  odor 
of  the  burning  cedar,  the  snow-white  clouds  and  deep  blue 
of  he  sky  mirrored  in  the  stream,  made  it  a  place  fit  at 
leas.t  for  rural  divinities.  Pan  might  have  looked  in, — ah  I 
he  is  dead, —  his  ghost  then  might  have  looked  in  upon 
them  from  behind  some  old  gnarled  tree,  with  a  frown  of 
envy  at  this  intrusion  upon  his  ancient  domain. 

On  the  following  morning,  at  the  first  faint  glimmering 
of  light,  Micah  was  alert.  He  shook  our  young  hero's 
shoulder  and  woke  him  from  a  pleasant  dream. 

**  Neow  *s  the  time,  Captin',"  said  Micah,  speaking  in  a 
cautious  undertone,  *^  neow's  the  time,  ef  we  do  it  at  all, 
to  nab  them  deer.  While  your  gittin'  rigged  and  takin'  a 
cold  bite,  I'll  tell  ye  the  lay  o'  things.  Ye  see,  don't 
ye,  that  pint  o'  land  ahead  on  us,  a  juttin'  out  into  the 
stream?  Well,  we've  got  to  put  the  canoe  on  the  water 
right  away,  hustle  in  the  things,  and  percede  just  as  whist 
and  keerful  as  we  ken,  to  that  pint.  Jest  beyend  that, 
I  expect  the  animils,  when  day 's  fairly  up,  will  come  to 
drink.     And  ♦here  's  where  we'  11  get  a  shot  at  'em." 

"  But  what  makes  you  expect  they '11  come  to  drink  at 
that  particular  place,  Micah?"  :    - 

♦♦  You  see  that  pooty  steep  hill,  that  diopes  up  jest  back 
o'  the  pint  o'  land,  don't  ye?  Well,  behind  that  hill  which 
is  jsteeper  'n  it  looks  to  be,  there 's  a  largish,  level  piece 
of  greound  that 's  been  burnt  over  within  a  few  years,  and 
it 's  grown  up  to  tall  grass  and  got  a  number  o'  clumps  of 
young  trees  on  it,  and  it 's  'bout  surreounded  by  a  lot  o' 


144 


MIRAMIOHI. 


master  rocky  hills.  That  *b  the  feedin'  greound.  There  *a 
a  deep  gorge  cut  right  inter  that  hill,  back  'o  the  pint. 
The  gorge  has  a  pooty  smooth  rocky  bed.  In  the  spring 
o'  the  year,  there 's  a  brook  runs  through  there  and  pours 
inter  the  river  jest  below.  But  it 's  all  dry  neow,  and  the 
deer,  as  a  gen'al  thing  scramble  eout  of  their  feedin'  place 
into  this  gorge  and  foller  it  deown  to  the  river  to  git  their 
drink.  It  brings  *em  eout  jest  below  the  pint.  We  have 
got  neow  to  cross  over  to  the  pint,  huggin'  the  bank,  so 
the  critters  sha  n't  see  us,  and  take  a  shot  from  there.  Git 
yer  piece  ready,  Captin.'  Ef  there's  tew,  or  more,  I'll 
hev  the  fust  shot  and  you  the  second.  Don't  speak,  arter^ 
we  git  on  to  the  pint,  the  leasteat  word." 

**  I  understand,"  said  John,  as  he  examined  his  rifle,  to 
see  that  all  was  right.  ,,        ,     x..* 

''  *' Now  for  it,"  said  Micah,  as  having  finished  their  ar- 
rangements, they  entered  the  canoe.  ^ 

Silently,  they  paddled  along,  sheltered  from  observation 
by  the  little  wooded  promontory  and  following  as  nearly  as 
possible  the  crankling  river  as  it  indented  into  the  land. 
In  a  few  minutes,  they  landed  and  proceeded  noiselessly  to 
get  a  view  of  the  bank  below. 

After  a  moment's  reconnoitre,  John  turned  his  face 
towards  Micah  with  a  look  of  blank  disappointment. 

But  Micah  looked  cool  and  expectant.  He  merely 
pointed  up  the  rocky  gorge  and  said  under  his  breath . 

"  'T  aint  time  to  expect  'em  yet.  The  wind,  what  there 
is  on  it,  is  favorable  tew, —  it  blows  right  in  our  faces  and 
can't  kerry  any  smell  of  us  to  *em.    Neow  hide  yourself 


MIBAMICHI. 


U5 


lere  *» 

pint. 

ipring 

pours 

id  the 

place 

their 

have 

k,    80 

Git 
,  I'U 

arter 

9e,  to 

ir  ar- 

■,  •,:.>■>. 
iration 
rly  as 
land. 
3I7  to 

face 
lerely 

there 
3  and 
irself 


\  i 
i    V 


right  ttwny.    Keep  near  me,  Captin',  so  that  we  ken  make 
motions  to  each  other." 

In  a  few  moments  they  had  secured  their  ambuscade, 
each  lying  on  the  ground  at  full  length,  concealed  by  low, 
scrubby  trees.  By  a  slight  turn  of  the  head,  each  could 
command  a  view  up  the  gorge  for  a  considerable  distance. 

Just  as  the  sun  began  to  show  his  broad,  red  disc  in  the 
east,  new  light  shot  forth  from  the  eyes  of  the  hunters,  as 
they  perceived  a  small  herd  coming  down  the  rocky  pathway. 
The  creatures  bounded  along  with  a  wild  and  graceful  free- 
dom, until  they  reached  the  debouche  of  the%  pass  into  the 
valley.  There  they  paused,  —  scanned  the  scene  with 
eager  eyes  and  snuffed  the  morning  breeze.  The  wind 
brought  no  tale  of  their  enemies,  close  at  hand,  and  they 
bounded  on  fearlessly  to  the  river's  brink. 

It  was  apparently  a  family  party,  a  noble  buck  leading 
the  group,  followed  by  a  doe  and  two  young  hinds.  They 
soon  had  their  noses  in  the  stream.  The  buck  took  large 
draughts  and  then  noising  his  haughty  front,  tossed  his 
antlers,  as  if  in  defiance,  in  the  face  of  the  god  of  day. 

Micah's  eye  waa  at  his  rifle.  A  crack  and  a  whizz  in 
the  air.  The  noble  creature  gave  one  mighty  bound  and 
fell  dead.  The  ball  bad  entered  his  broad  forehead  and 
penetrated  to  the  brain.  iPr 

At  the  report  of  the  rifle,  the  doe,  who  was  still  drink- 
ing, gave  a  bound  in  the  air,  scatteritig  the  spray  from  her 
dripping  mouth,  wheeled  with  the  rapidity  of  lightning,  and 
sprang  towards  the  gorge.     But  John's  instantaneous  shot 

sped  through  the  air  and  the  animal  fell  dead '  from  her 

13 


146 


MIBAMICai. 


second  bound,  the  ball  haying  entered  the  heart.  In  the 
midst  of  their  triumph,  John  and  Micah  watched,  with  re- 
lenting eyes  the  two  hinds,  while  they  took,  as  on  the  wings 
of  the  wind,  their  forlorn  flight  up  the  fatal  pathway. 

Having  slung  their  booty  on  the  boughs  of  a  wide- 
branching  tree,  and  taken  some  refreshment  from  the  sup- 
plies in  the  canoe,  Micah  declared  himself  good  for  a  scram- 
ble up  the  hill  to  the  feeding-ground,  a  proposition  John 
readily  accepted.  ♦  -         '  -     • 

Over  rock,  bush  and  brier,  up  hill  and  down,  for  five 
hours,  they  pursued  their  way  with  unmitigated  zeal  and 
energy.  They  scaled  the  hill,  cut  by  the  gorge, —  ap- 
proaching, cautiously,  its  brow,  overlooking'  the  deer 
haunt.     But  they  could  perceive  no  trace  of  the  herd. 

**  It*s  abeout  as  I  expected,"  said  Micah,  "  them  two 
little  hinds  we  skeered,  gin  the  alarm  to  the  rest  on  'em 
and  they  've  all  skulked  off  to  some  covit  or  ruther. 
S'pose  Captin',  we  jest  make  a  surkit  reound  through  the 
rest  of  these  hills,  maybe  we  '11  light  on  *em  agin." 

**  Agreed,"  responded  John.  ' 

They  skirted  the  enclosure,  but  without  a  chance  for 
another  shot.  As,  about  noon,  they  were  rapidly  de- 
scending the  gorge,  on  their  way  back  to  the  promontory, 
the  scene  of  their  looming  success,  Micah  proposed  that 
they  should  have  **  a  nice  brile  out  of  that  fat  buck  at  the 
pint,  and  then  put  fo»  the  settlement." 

"Not  yet,"  said  John.  "Why,  we  are  just  getting 
into  this  glorious  life.   What 's  your  hurry,  Mummychog  ?  '* 

"Well,  yq  see,"  said  MiqaJi,  "I  can't  be  gone  from 


MIRAMIGHI. 


U4 


deer 


hvLxn,  no  longer  neow,  anyheow.    Next  week,  111  tiy  it 
with  ye  agin,  if  ye  say  so." 

John  acceded  reluctantly  to  the  arrangement,  though  hi«i 
disappointment  was  somewhat  mitigated  by  the  prospect  of 
another  similar  excursion. 

The  meal  prepared  by  Micah,  for  their  closing  repast, 
considering  the  circumstances,  might  have  been  pro- 
nounced as  achieved  in  the  highest  style'  of  art.  Under  a 
bright^  sky,  shadowed  by  soft,  quivering  birch-trees,  scat- 
tering broken  lights  all  over  theur  rustic  table,  never  surely 
was  a  dinner  eaten  with  greater  gusto. 

Life  in  the  forest  I  ended  all  too  soon.  But  thy  mem- 
ories live.  Memories  redolent  of  youth,  health,  strength, 
freedom,  and  beauty,  come  through  the  long  years,  laden 
with  dews,  sunshine,  and  fragrance,  and  scatter  over  the 
time-worn  spirit  refreshment  and  delight. 

As  our  voyagers  were  paddling  up  stream  in  the  after- 
noon, in  answer  to  questions  put  by  John  to  Micah,  re- 
specting the  Dubois  family,  he  remarked. — 
•  "  Them  Doobyce's  came  to  the  kentry,  jest  ten  year 
before  I  did.  Well,  I  Ve  heerd  say,  the  Square  came  fust. 
He  didn't  set  himself  up  for  anything  great  at  all,  but 
explored  reound  the  region  a  spell,  and  was  kinder  pleasant 
to  most  anybody  he  came  across.  Somehow,  or  'nuther, 
he  had  a  kind  of  a  kingly  turn  with  him,  that  seemed  jest 
a§  nateral  as  did  to  breathe,  and  ye  could  see  that  he 
warn't  no  ways  used  to  sech  a  wildcat  sort  of  a  place  as 
Miramichi  was  then." 

**  I  wonder  that  he  remained  here,"  said  John. 


148 


BURAMICHI. 


"  Well,  the  pesky  critters  reound  here  rather  took  'o 
him,  and  he  bought  a  great  lot  o'  land  and  got  workmen 
and  built  a  house,  and  fetched  his  wife  .and  baby  here.  So 
they  've  lived  here  ever  since.  But  they  're  no  ,more  like 
the  rest  o'  the  people  in  these  parts,  than  I  'm  like  you, 
and  it  has  allers  been  a  mystery  to  me  why  they  should 
stay.  But  I  s'pose  they  know  their  own  bissiniss  best. 
They  *re  allers  givin'  to  the  poor,  and  they  try  to  make  the 
settlers,  more  decent  every  way,  but  'taint  been  o'  much 


use. 

After  a  long,  meditative  pause,  Micah  said,  "  Neow 
Captin',  I  want  yeou  to  answer  me  one  question,  honestly. 
I  aint  a  goin'  to  ask  any  thing*  sarcy.  Did  ye  ever  in  yer 
life  see  a  hamsumer,  witchiner  critter  than  Miss  Adele  is  ?  " 

Micah  fixed  his  keen  eye  triumphantly  upon  our  hero, 
as  if  he  was  aware  beforehand  that  but  one  response  could 
be  made.  John  surprised  by  the  suddenness  of  the  ques- 
tion, and  somewhat  confused,  for  the  moment,  by  a  vague 
consciousness  that  his  companion  had  found  the  key  to  his 
thoughts,  hesitated  a  little,  but  soon  recovered  sufficiently 
to  parry  the  stroke. 

J*  You  don't  mean  to  say,  Micah,  that  there 's  any  person 
for  beauty  and  bewitchingness  to  be  compared  with  Mrs. 
McNab?" 

*  *  Whew-e  w,"  uttered  Micah ,  while  every  line  and  feature 
in  his  countenance  expressed  ineffable  scorn.  He  gave 
several  extra  strokes  of  the  paddle  with  great  energy. 
Suddenly,  his  grim  features  broke  into  a  genial  smile. 

"Well,  Captin',"  he  said,"  ef  yeou   choose  to 


y\  * 


play 


MIRAMICHl. 


149 


'possum  that  way,  ye  ken.  But  ye  need  n't  expect  me  to 
believe  in  them  tricks,  cos  I  'm  an  old  'un." 

John  laughed  and  replied,  *<  Mummychog,  Miss  Adele 
Dubois^  a  perfect  beauty.     I  can't  deny  it." 

**  And  a  parfeck  angel  tew,"  said  Micah. 

**  I  don't  doubt  it,"  said  John,  energetically.  "  When 
shall  we  reach  the  settlement,  Micah  ?  " 

**  Abeout  three  hours  arter  moonrise." 

And  just  at  that  time  our  voyagers  touched  the  spot 
they  had  started  from  the  day  before,  and  unloaded  their 
cargo.  They  were  received  at  the  Dubois  house  with 
the  compliments  due  to  succdfesful  hunters. 


'^- 


V 


CHAPTER  XVm. 


THE   PEESECUTION. 


On  the  following  afternoon,  Mr.  N.  rton  preached  to  a 
larger  and  far  more  attentive  audience  than  usual.  The 
solemn  warnings  ho  had  uttered  and  the  fearful  presenti- 
ments of  coming  evil  he  had  expressed  on  the  last  occasten 
of  assembling  at  the  Grove,  had  been  communicated  from 
mouth  to  mouth.  Curiosity,  and  perhaps  spme  more 
elevated  motive,  had  drawn  a  numerous  crowd  of  people 
together  to  hear  him. 

He  spokg  to  them  plainly  of  their  sinful  conduct,  partic- 
ularizing the  vices  of  intemperance,  profanity,  gambling, 
ard  Sabbath-breaking,  to  which  many  of  them  were  ad- 
dicted. He  earnestly  besought  them  to  turn  from  these 
evil  ways  and  accept  pardon  for  their  past  transgressions 
and  mercy  through  Christ.  He  showed  them  the  conse- 
quences of  their  refusal  to  listen  to  the  teachings  and 
counsels  of  the  book  of  God,  and,  at  last,  depicted  to 
them,  with  great  vividness,  the  awful  glories  and  terrors 
of  the  day  of  final  account. 


\ 


*'  When  tlie  Judge  shaU  come  in  splendor, 
Strict  to  mark  and  just  to  render." 


J 


I 


MinAMICHI. 


151 


i 


j 


«  ih 


Af  bis*  mind  dilated  with  the  awful  grandeur  of  the 
theme,  hii  thoughts  kindled  to  a  white  heat,  and  he  flung 
off  words  that  seemed  to  dcorch  and  burn  even  the  callous 
souls  of  those  time-hardened  transgressors. .  He  poured 
upon  their  earSy  in  tones  of  trumpet  power  and  fuliiess, 
echoed  from  the  hills  around,  the  stern  threatenings  of 
ii\jured  justice ;  he  besought  them,  in  low,  sweet,  thrilling 
accents,  to  yield  themselves  heart  and  life  to  the  Great 
Judge,  who  will  preside  in  the  day  of  impartial  accounts, 
and  thus  avert  his  wrath  and  be  happy  forever. 
•  At  the  close,  he  threw  himself  for  a  few  moments 
upon  the  rustle  bench  appropriated  to  him,  covered  his 
face  with  his  hands  and  seemed  In  silent  prayer.  The 
people  involuntarily  bent  their  heads  In  sympathy  and 
remained  motionless.  Then,  he  rose  and  gave  them  th^ 
evening  benediction. 

Mr.  8on|ers,  liis  nephew,  and  Adele  had  been  sitting* 
under  the  shade  of  an  odorous  balm  poplar,  on  the  skirt  of 
the  crowd,  at  first  watching  Its  movements,  and  then  drawn 
away  from  these  observations,  by  the  impressive  discourse  , 
of  Mr.  Norton.  '' 

**  What  a  clear,  melodious  voice  he  has ! "  said  John  In 
an  undertone  to  Ad^le,  as  the  missionary  finished  the 
opening  service.  '         ^# 

**Wait,  until  you  iiear  Its  trumpet  tones,  Mr.  Lans- 
downe.  Those  will  come,  by  and  by.  They  are  mcgnifi- 
cent. '  Please  listen."  And  Ad^le  placed  a  finger  upon 
her  lips,  in  token  of  silence. 

John  listened,  at  first,  in  obedience  to  her  request,  but 
he  soon  became  enchamed  by  the  speaker. 


152 


umAMtmh 


After  the  dlieourM  Wif  eoneivMi,  the  trio  remained 
Bitting  OS  if  flpeUbound^  ^(uiUi  unobiorvant  of  the  crowd, 
slowly  dispersing  Around  iliom« 

*<  What  would  tbAtmfln  hate  been,  Ned,"  at  length  ex- 
claimed John,  <<  had  h@  "ecdred  the  culture  which  such 
munificent  gifts  doi  J  t  Vfhy,  he  would  have  been  Ihe 
orator  of  our  nation'''  ' 

"  Ay,  John,"  replied  Mr,  Homers,  "but  it  is  the  solemn 
truth  of  his  theme  that  gives  him  half  his  power." 

« It  is  ai  if  I  lied  beard  the  pies  ira  chanted,"  said 
Adfele. 

As  they  walked  on  towards  the  bouse  in  silence,  they 
encountered  a  company  of  persons,  of  which  Mr.  Dubois 
and  the  missionary  were  tlte  eentre.  These  two  were  con- 
Tcrsing  quite  composedly^  but  the  surrounding  groups 
seemed  to  be  under  §mm  eiteltement* 

At  the  dispersion  of  tb#  gathering  at  tHb  Grove,  as  Mr. 
Norton  was  on  bis  way  to  the  quiet  of  his  own  room,  Mr. 
Dubois  had  presented  to  him  the  bearer  of  a  dispatch  from 
Fredericton.  The  ineiiOiiger  said  he  had  been  instructed 
to  announce  that  the  Provincial  Court  was  in  session  in  that 
£ity,  and  that  a  eomplalflt  hod  been  lodged  with  the  grand 
jury  against  Mr*  Kortoiii  fttid  he  was  requested  to  meet 
the  charge  immediately*  4i  f 

Mr.  Norton  wAi  iurprieedi  but  i|^  veiy  calmly — 

«  Can  you  inform  fMf  ilr^  what  the  charge  is  1 " 
« It  is  a  charge  for  hftvliig  preached  m  the  Province  of 
Brunswick,  without  a  lleetise/' 

«  Can  you  tell  me  by  whom  the  charge  waa  brought?" 


h 


Y) 


MIBAMICm. 


153 


i^ 


**  By  the  reverend  Francis  DInsmoor,  a  clergyman  of  the 
Established  Church,  of  the  parish  of . 

**  Yes,  sir.  I  understand.  He  is  your  neighbor  on 
the  other  side  of  the  river,  Mr.  Dubois.  Well,  sir,"  con- 
tinued Mr.  Norton,  "  I  suppose  you  have  just  arrived  and 
stand  in  need  of  refreshment.  I  will  confer  with  you,  by 
and  by." 

The  messenger  retraced  his  steps  towards  the  house. 

In  the  mean  time,  a  few  rough-looking  men  had  over- 
heard the  conversation,  taken  in  its  import,  and  now  came 
about  Mr.  Dubois  and  Mr.  Norton,  making  inquiries. 

Tom  Hunkins,  more  noted  for  profanity,  hard  drinking, 
and  gambling,  than  any  man  in  the  settlement,  and 
whom  Mr.  Norton  at  the  risk  of  making  him  a  violent 
enemy,  had  on  one  ocviasion  severely  reprehended  for  the 
pernicious  influence  he  f  jrted  in  the  community,  —  here 
interposed  a  word  of  counsel.  He  was  just  speaking, 
when  Adele,  Mr.  Somers,  and  John,  joined  the  group. 

**  Nq^w  ef  I  may  be  so  bold,"  said  Tom,  **  I  would  n't 
go  anyst  the  cussed  court.  It's  nothin'  at  all,  but  the 
meanness  and  envy  o*  that  rowdy  priest  over  the  river 
there.  He 's  jest  mad,  cos  the  people  come  over  here  to 
git  fodder  instid  o*  goin'  to  his  empty  comcrib.  They  like 
to  hear  yer  talk  better  than  they  do  him,  and  that 's  the 
hull  on  it.  I  'd  let  the  condemed  critter  and  court  whizz, 
both  on  '  em.    I  would 't  go  ajnist  'em." 

<«  But  Mr.  Hunkins,"  said  Mr.  Norton,  "  I  must  attend 
to  this  matter.  I  am  exposed  to  a  fine  of  fifty  pounds  and 
six  months'  imprisonment,  for  breaking  a  law  enacted  by 
he  Assembly  of  His  Majesty's  Province." 


154 


MTRABOCRI. 


« 111  tell  ye  what  ye  can  do,  parson.  I'll  take  and 
put  ye  right  through  to  Chartham  this  very  night,  and  ye 
ken  take  a  schooner  that  I  know  is  going  to  sail  to-morrow 
for  Eaatport.  That  'ill  land  ye  safe  in  the  State  of  Maine, 
where  ye  ken  stay  tilf  the  Court  is  over,  and  the  fox  has 
gone  back  to  his  hole,  and  then  we  '11  give  ye  a  lifk;  back 
agin  and  ye  ken  go  on  with  yer  preachin'.'* 

**  I  thank  you  for  your  kind  feeling  towards  me,  Mr. 
Hunkins,  but  I  must  go  to  Fredericton.  The  case  is  just 
this.  I  knew,  before  I  came  to  Mlramlchl,  that  the  gov- 
ernment was  not  particularly  favorable  to  dissenting  min- 
isters, and  also  that  the  Assembly  had  passed  this  law. 
But  I  had  heard  of  the  condition  of  this  people  and  felt 
constrained  to  come  here,  by  my  desire  to  serve  Christ,  my 
Master  and  my  King.  By  so  doing,  I  took  all  the  risks  in 
the  case.  Now,  if  I,  for  conscience's  sake,  have  violated 
an  unjust  law,  I  am  willing  to  pay  the  penalty.  I  have 
not  wittingly  done  harm  to  any  of  His  Majesty's  subjects, 
or  endeavored  to  draw  them  away  from  their  loyaby*  I 
will  therefore  go  with  tb'^  messenger  to  Fredericton  and 
meet  this  charge.  I  am  not  afraid  of  what  evil-minded 
men  can  do  unto  me." 

"  That  is  right,  Mr.  Norton,"  exclaimed  Adele,  who, 
had  been  lidtcning  attentively  to  his  words.  "  Will  you 
not  go  with  him,  father?" 

After  a  moment's  meditation,  Mr.  Dubois  replied,  "  IT 
it  ie  Hr.  Norton's  wish.  I  have  a  friend  who  is  a  member 
of  the  Assembly.  A  favorable  statement  of  the  case  from 
him,  would  doubtless  have  much  weight  with  the  jury." 


'\^ 


MmAMiom. 


10|5 


'■< 


**  Thank  you,  sir,  thank  you.  Such  an  arrangement 
would  doubtless  be  of  great  service  to  me.  I  should  be 
exceedingly  grateful  for  it." 

Micah,  who  had  been  hitherto  a  quiet  listener  to  the 
colloquy,  now  gave  a  short,  violent  cough,  and  said, 
**  Captin',  it's  kinder  queer  I  should  happen  to  hev  an 
arrand  reound  to  Fredericton  to-morrow.  But  IVo  jest 
thought  that  as  long  as  I'm  a  goin'  to  be  in  the  place,  I 
might  as  well  step  in  afore  the  jury  and  say  what  I  know 
abeout  the  case." 

<*  Thank  you,  Micah.  I  believe  you  have  been  present 
whenever  I  have  discoursed  to  our  friends,  and  know  pre- 
cisely what  I  have  said  to  them." 

"  Well,  I  guess  I  dew,  pooty  nigh.** 

The  aifalr  being  thus  arranged,  the  party  separated. 

Mr.  Norton  informed  the  messenger  of  his  intention, 
early  in  the  morning,  to  depart  with  him  for  Fredericton. 

He  then  retired  to  his  room,  spent  an  hour  in  reflecting 
upon  the  course  he  had  adopted,  examined  faithfully  the 
motives  that  influenced  him,  and  finally  came  to  the 
conclusion  that  he  was  in  the  right  path.  He  firmly 
believed  God  had  sent  him  to  MIramichi  to  preach  the 
gospel,  and  resolved  that  he  would  not  be  driven  from 
thence  by  any  power  of  men  or  evil  spirits.  He  then 
committed  himself  to  the  care  of  the  Almighty  Bein^,  and 
slept  securely  under  the  wing  c^  his  love. 

In  the  mean  time,  there  was  a  high  breeze  of  excitement 
blowing  through  the  settlement,  the  people  taking  up  the 
matter  aoid  maktog  commoa  oauae  with  Mr.  Korton.    He 


1 , 


156 


MIRAMICni. 


Bcemed  to  have  fairly  won  their  good  will,  although  ho  had 
not  yet  induced  them,  except  in  a  few  instances^  to  reform 
their  habits  of  life.  They  ventilated  their  indignation 
against  the  unfortunate  clergyman  of  the  parish  of  , 

in  no  measured  terms. 

There  was,  however,  one  exception  to  thu  kind  feeling 
manifested  by  the  settlers,  towards  the  missionary  at  this 
time,  in  the  person  of  Mrs.  McNab.  She  informed  Mrs* 
Campbell,  as  they  were  discussing  the  matter  before  retiring 
for  the  night,  that  it  was  just  what  she  had  expected. 

**  Na  gude  comes  o'  sech  hurry-flurry  kind  o'  doctrenes 
as  that  man  preaches.  I  dinna  believe  pu^sons  can  be 
carried  into  the  kingdom  o'  heaven  on  a  wharlwind,  as 
he'd  have  us  to  think." 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Campbell,  who  had  been  much 
impressed  with  Mr.  Norton's  teachings,  **  I  don't  think 
there's  much  likelihood  of  many  folks  round  here,  bein 
kerried  that  way,  or  any  other,  into  the  kingdom.  And  I 
shall  almiys  bless  that  man  for  his  kindness  to  the  children 
when  they  were  so  sick,  and  for  the  consoling  way  in  which 
he  talked  to  me  at  that  time." 

*<  His  doctrenes  are  every  way  delytarious,  am'  you'll 
find  that 's  the  end  on 't,"  said  Mrs.  MoNab. 

To  this  dogmatic  remark  Mrs.  Campbell  made  no 
reply. 

Sitting  in  the  Madonna  room,  that  evening,  John  re- 
marked to  Mr.  Somers,  **  I  have  a  growing  admiration  for 
your  missionary.  Did  you  notice  what  he  said,  in  reply  to 
the  man  who  counselled  him  to  fly  into  Maine  and  so  evade 


MTBAMTCHl. 


157 


the  charge  brought  against  him  ?  Small  things  sometimes 
suggest  great  ones.  I  was  reminded  of  what  Luther  said, 
when  cited  before  the  diet  of  Worms,  and  when  his  friends 
advised  him  not  to  go.  *  I  am  lawfully  called  to  appear  n 
that  city,  and  thither  I  will  go,  in  the  name  of  the  Lord, 
though  as  many  devils  as  tiles  upon  the  houses  were 
assembled  against  me.'" 

**  Ay,  John.  There  are  materials  in  the  character  of 
that  man  for  the  making  of  another  Luther.  Truth, 
courage,  power,  —  he  has  them  all." 


ir 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


THE  LIEUTENANT-GOVERNOR. 


The  next  morning  at  an  early  hour,  Mr.  Dubois  and 
Mr.  Norton,  accompanied  by  the  bearer  of  the  despatch, 
started  for  Frcdericton.  They  were  joined  by  Micab, 
whose  alleged  urgent  business  in  that  city  proved  to  be 
nothing  more  nor  less  than  to  lend  his  aid  towards  getting 
the  missionary  out  of  what  he  called  **  a  bad  fix  I  " 
•  Proceeding  up  the  Miramichi  River  a  short  distance,  they 
came  to  the  portage,  where  travelling  through  the  wilder- 
ness twenty  miles  to  the  Nashwauk,  they  passed  down 
that  stream  to  its  junction  with  the  St.  John's  River,  op- 
posite Fredericton. 

After  throwing  off  the  dust  of  travel  and  resting  some- 
what from  their  fatigue,  the  two  gentlemen  first  named, 
went  to  call  on  Col.  Allen,  the  friend  of  whom  Mr. 
Dubois  had  spoken,  who  was  a  resident  of  the  Capital. 

He  was  a  man  of  wealth  and  consideration  in  the 
province.  Having  listened  attentively  to  the  statement 
made  by  Mr.  Dubois  respecting  the  arrest  of  Mr.  Norton, 
he  promised  to  do  all  in  his  power  to  secure  for  him  a  fair 
trial. 


MIRAMICni. 


150 


w 


Although  a  high  churchman  in  principle  and  feeling, 
he  was  yet  candid  and  upright  in  his  judgments,  and 
happened,  moreover,  to  bo  well  acquainted  with  tho 
character  of  tho  clergyman   of  the   parish  of  ,  who 

hijd  brought  the  charge  against  Mr.  Norton.  He  mado 
a  few  inquiries  respecting  the  evidence  tho  missionary 
could  produce  of  good  character  in  his  native  State. 

*'  It  will  be  well,"  he  remarked,  to  call  on  ^is  Excel- 
lency, the  Governor,  and  put  him  in  possession  of  these 
facts.  It  is  possible  the  case  may  take  some  plmpe  in 
which  his  action  may  be  called  for.  It  will  do  no  harm 
for  him  to  have  a  knowledge  of  the  circumstances  from 
yourselves,  gentlemen.  Will  you  accompany  me  to  .a*'^ 
Government  House  ?  "  ' 

The  Government  House,  a  large  building  of  stone,  is 
situated  near  the  northern  entrance  to  the  city.  With  its 
extensive  wings,  beautiful  grounds  and  military  appoint- 
ments, it  presents  an  imposing  appearance.  In  the  rear  of 
the  mansion,  a  fine  park  slopes  down  to  the  bank  of  the 
river,  of  which  it  commands  frequent  and  enchanting  views. 

The  three  gentlemen  alighted  at  the  entrance  to  the 
grounds,  opening  from  the  broad  street,  ar/*  sifter  passing 
the  sentry  were  conducted  by  a  page  to  the  Governor's 
oj£ce.  His  Excellency  shortly  appeared  and  gave  them 
a  courteous  welcome.  In  brief  terms  Col.  Allen  presented 
to  him  the  case. 

The  Governor  remarked  in  reply,  that  the  law  prohib- 
iting persons  :^rom  publicly  preaching,  or  teaching,  without 
a  license,  had  been  passed  many  years  ago,  in  consequence 


•^ 


160 


MIBAMICm. 


of  disturbances  made  by  a  set  of  fanatics,  who  promol- 
*gated  among  the  lower  classes  certain  extravagant  dogmas 
by  which  they  were  led  on  even  to  commit  murder,  think- 
ing they  were  doing  God  service.  The  purpose  of  the  law, 
he  said,  having  been  thus  generally  understood,  few,  if  any 
clergymen,  belonging  either  to  the  Established  Church  or 
to  Dissenting  congregations,  had  applied  for  a  license,  and  i 
this  was  the  jSrst  complaint  to  his  knowledge,  that  had  been 
entered,  alleging  a  violation  of  the  law.  He  said,  also,- 
that  from  the  statement  Col.  Allen  had  made,  he  appre- 
hended no  danger  to  Mr.  Norton,  as  he  thought  the  charge 
brought  against  him  could  not  be  maintained. 

**  I  advise  you,  sir,"  said  he,  turning  to  the  missionary, 
**  to  go  to  the  Secretary's  office  and  take  the  oath  of  alle- 
giance to  the  government.  Mr.  Dubois  states  you  are 
exerting  a  good  influence  at  Miramichi.  I  will  see  that  you 
receive  no  further  annoyance."  . 

**  I  thank  your  Honor,"  Mr.  Norton  replied,  **  for  your 
kind  assurances,  and  I  declare  to  you,  sir,  that  I  have  the 
most  friendly  feelings  towards  His  Majesty's  subjects  and 
government,  as  I  have  given  some  proof  in  coming  to 
labor  at  Miramichi.  But,  sk)  I  cannot  conscientiously  take 
an  oath  of  allegiance  to  your  government,  when  my  love 
and  duty  are  pledged  to,  another.  X  ^an^estly  hope  that 
the  present  s^micablf  i^elatlons,  inay  ev^r  comtpue  to  exist 
between  the  two  powers,  but,  sir,  should  any  conflict  ajnse^ 
between  th^m,  the  impropriety  of  my  paving  taken  such 
sm  oath  woul4  becpme  too,  evident." 

*  ♦  You^  ar^  rig^tr    Tw  9$%  xi^^  ipy  gQo4  sir,"  repli^; 


•■•'■,  i 


MIRAMIGHI. 


161 


:\V' 


the  Governoi^.  **  I  promise  you  that  as  long  as  you  con- 
tinue your  work  in  the  rational  mode  you  have  already 
pursued,  making  no  effort  to  excite  treasonable  feelings 
towards  His  Majesty^s  government,  you  shall  not  be  inter- 
fered with." 

His  Excellency  then  made  numerous  inquiries  of  Mr. 
Dubois  and  Mr.  Norton,  respecting  the  condition  of  society, 
business,  means  of  education  and  religious  worship  in  the 
Miramichi  country.  He  already  knew  Mr.  Dubois  by 
reputation,  and  was  gratified  to  have  this  opportunity  of 
meeting  him.  He  inquired  of  the  missionary  how  he 
happened  to  light  upon  New  Brunswick  as  the  scene  of  his 
religious  labors,  and  listened  to  Mr.  Norton's  account  of  his 
<<  call  '*  to  MIramachi  with  unaffected  interest. 

The  next  day  the  case  was  brought  before  the  Jury. 
The  charge  having  been  read,  Mr.  Dubois  appeared  in 
behalf  of  the  missionary,  testifying  to  his  good  character 
and  to  the  nature  of  his  spiritual  teachings.  He  also  pre- 
sented to  the  Jury  three  commissions  from  the  Governor 
of  the  State  of- »  which  Mr.  Norton  had  in  his  pos- 
session, one  of  them  being  a  commission  as  Chaplain  of 
tile  Begiment  to  which  he  belonged.  Inquuy  being 
made  whether  Mr«  Norton's  preaching  was  calculated  to 
disaffect  subjects  towdrds  the  government,  no  evidence  was 
found  to  that  effect*  On  the  contrary,  witnesses  were 
brought  to  prove  the  revetee, 

Mr.  Mummychog,  aware  before  he  left;  Miramichi^  that 
a  nwnber  of  his  compeelr^  in  that  region,  who  had  been  in 
the  habit  of  ooming  to  the  Grote  to  hear  Mr*  Norton 
14» 


w 


162 


MIBAMICIU. 


I    «' 


discourse,  were  just  now  ut  Frederlcton,  on  lumbering 
business,  had  been  beating  up  these  as  recrtiits  for  the  oc- 
^casion,  and  now  brought  forward  quite  an  overpowering 
weight  of  evidence  in  favor  of  the  defendant.  These  men 
testified  that  he  had  preached  to  them  the  importance  6t 
fulfilling  their  duties  as  citizens,  telling  them,  that  unless 
they  were  good  subjects  to  the  civil  government,  they 
oould  not  be  good  subjects  in  Chrjist's  kingdom.  They 
testified,  also,  that  they  had  frequently  heard  him  pray  in 
public,  for  the  health,  happiness,  and  prosperity  of  His 
Majesty,  and  for  blessings  on  the  Lord  Lieutenant-Gov- 
ernor. 

After  a  few  minutes  of  conversation,  the  Jury  dismissed 
the  charge. 

The  party  retired,  much  gratified  at  the  favorable  con- 
clusion of  what  might,  under  other  circumstances,  have 
proved  to  the  missionary  an  annoying  affair.  Mr.  Norton 
warmly  expressed  his  gratitude  to  Mr.  Dubois,  as  having 
been  the  main  instrument,  in  securing  this  result.  He 
also  cordially  thanked  Micah  and  his  friends,  for  their 
prompt  efforts  in  his  behalf. 

*«  Twant  much  of  a  chore,  any  heow,"  said  Micah.  *•  I 
never  could  stan'  by  and  see  any  critter  put  upon  by 
another  he*d  done  no  harm  to,  ^d  I  never  will.'' 

As  they  returned  to  the  hotel,  Mr.  Dubois  remarked 
that  this  journey  to  the  Capital,  after  all,  might  not 
bo  without. good  results. 

**  You  made,"  he  said  to  Mr.  Norton,  **  an  extremely  fa- 
vorable impression  on  the  minds  of  several  gentlemen,  who 


MIBAMICUI. 


163 


wield  power  in  the  province,  and  should  you  be  subjected  to 
future  persecutions,'  you  will  probably  be  able  to  secure 
their  protection."  j^g  .  . 

**  Possibly — possibly.  I  am  grateful,  if  I  have  in  any 
way  secured  the  good  will  of  those  gentlemen.  I  was  par- 
ticularly impressed  by  their  dignity,  affability,  and  readiness 
to  oblige  yourself.  But,  my  dear  sir,  it  is  better  to  trust 
in  the  Lord  than  to  put  confidence  in  princes." 


HI 


. 


CHAPTEE  XX.. 

iiB.  LANSDOWNE  SUBMITS  TO  THE  INEVITABLE.  ' 

Ix  the  meanwhile,  a  change  had  come  upon  John  Lans- 
downe.  Only  a  few  weeks  ago,  he  was  a  careless  youth, 
of  keen  and  vigorous  intellectual  powers,  satiated  with 
books  and  tired  of  college  walls,  with  the  boy  spirit  in  the 
ascendant  within  him.  His  eye  was  wide  open  and 
observant,  and  hi&>  ringing  laugh  was  so  merry,  that  it 
brought  an  involuntary  smile  upon  any  one  who  might 
chance  to  hear  its  rich  peals.  His  talk  was  rapid,  gay,  and 
brilliant,  with  but  the  slightest  dash  of  sentiment,  and  his 
manner  frank  and  fearless. 

But  now  his  bearing  had  become  quiet  and  dignified ;  his 
conversation  was  more  thoughtful  and  deep-flowing,  less 
dashing  and  free ;  he  spoke  in  a  lower  key ;  his  laugh  was 
less  loud,  but  far  sweeter  and  more  thrilling ;  his*  eyes  had 
grown  larger,  darker,  deeper,  and  sometimes  they  were 
shadowed  with  a  soft  and  tender  mist,  not  wont  to  over- 
spread them  before.  The  angel  of  Love  had  touched  him, 
ai^l  pened  a  new  and  living  spring  in  his  heart.  Boiling 
and  bubbling  in  its  hidden  recess,  an  ethereal  vapor  mounted 
up  and  mantled  those  blazing  orbs  in  a  dim  and  dreamy 
veil.    A  charmed  wand  had  touched  every  sense,  every 


*i 


] 


! 


m^tam.^ 


Mm/VMTcm. 


165 


I 


power  of  hit  being,  and  held  him  fast  in  a  rapturous  thrall, 
from  which  he  did  not  wish  to  be  released.  Under  the 
ppell  of  this  enchantment,  the  careless  boy  had 'passed  into^ 
the  reflective  man. 

Stories  are  told  of  knights  errant,  in  the  times  of  Merlin 
and  the  good  King  Arthur,  who,  while  ranging  the  world 
in  queit  of  adventures,  were  bewitched  by  lovely  wood 
fttiricis  or  wore  lulled  into  delicious  slumber  by  some  syren's 
song,  Of  wore  shut  up  in  pleasant  durance  in  enchanted 
cagtlei.  Accounts  of  similar  character  are  found,  even  in 
tbo  pages  of  grave  chroniclers  of  modem  date,  to  say 
nothing  of  what  books  of  fiction  tell,  and  what  we  observe 
with  our  own  eyes,  in  the  actual  world.  The  truth  is, 
XiOve  smites  his  victims,  just  when  and  where  he  finds 
them.  Mr.  Lansdowne's  case  then,  is  not  an  unprecedented 
one.  Tlio  keen  Damascus  blade,  used  to  pierce  our  hero 
and  bring  him  to  the  pitiful  condition  of  the  conquered,  had 
been  placed  in  the  hand  of  Adele.  Whether  Love  in- 
tended to  employ  that  young  lady  in  healing  the  cruel 
wound  she  hod  made,  remains  to  be  seen. 

At  the  I  eglnning  of  their  acquaintance,  they  had  found 
a  common  ground  of  interest  in  the  love  of  music 

They  both  sang  well.  Adele  played  the  piano  and  John 
discoursed  on  the  flute.  From  these,  employments,  they 
parsed  to  books.  They  rummaged  Mr.  Dubois's  library 
and  read  together,  selected  pas^ag'^s  from  favorite  authors. 
OcoasionaUy,  John  gave  her  little  episodes  of  ais  past  life, 
bis  childish,  his  school,  and  college  days.  In  return,  ^dele 
told  him  of  her  term  at  Halifax  in  the  convent ;  of  the 


■.■i^i^'^«,«Tij;^ffv;igi  av 


* 


166 


tllKAMlC^tl. 


routine  of  life  an4  itudy  there ;  of  her  friendships,  and 
very  privately,  of  tll4:  <ll»gu»t  «1ie  took,  whift  there,  to 
what  ehe  ckWdd  i\m  iUt>er«iitionK  the  mummeries  and  idyl* 
atry  of  the  Cfttholle  churc^i, 

When  Mr,  SaniefH  h«t<l  flC<|uirod  streiigth  enough  for 
exercise  on  hovfrnhrnkf  Mf*#  Dubois,  Adfele,  mvl  Jolm  were 
accustoDied  to  iumim[mny  him.  fuify,  about  an  hour  after 
brealifaat,  the  littk  [mHy  nii^ht  have  been  seen  fitting  oif 
for  a  canr^  tliroujajh  i\m  ihrmL  In  the  evening,  thp  gioup 
was  joiatij  by  M^,  t»  slioln  ftnil  the  mise^onary.  The  atmos- 
phere being  enmAy^ly  i1t>  ♦  botit  by  day  and  night,  tbey 
often  sat  and  tftlke4  b^  r '  /fdiglit,  on  a  balcony,  built  ever 
the  laigo,  porch-lik»?  miirmm  to  the  main  door  of  the  house. 

Thus  tiohn  auii  AMh  daily  grew  into  a  more  familiar 
acquaintance, 

During  the  nun^nm  of  Mf.  Dubois  at  Fredericton,  Mr. 
SuL!{>rs  annomu^eil  to  #Toiin  that  he  felt  himself  strong 
enough  to  undertake  tb§  ride  through  the  wilderness,  and 
proposec!  that,  ah  nmn  M  their  host  returned,  they  should 
start  on  their  journey  Umm, 

With  increasing  strength,  Mr.  Somers  had  become 
Impatient  to  return  to  tlui  duties  he  had  so  summarily 
forsaken. 

He  wished  to  teit,  in  M^Wp  life,  his  power  to  maintain 
the  new  principloi  \m  hfl4  iMpoused  and  to  ascertain  if  the 
nobler  aad  holier  hopei  that  now  animated  him,  would  give 
him  peace,  strength,  and  buoyancy,  amid  the  temptations 
and  trials  of  the  faiur§» 

John,  for  neveral  diiyi,  hud  been  living  in  a  delicious 


4. 


I    » 


MTRAMTOin, 


167 


reverie,  and  was  quite  startled  by  the  proposition.  Though 
aware  how  anxiously  his  parents  were  awaiting  his  return, 
and  that  there  was  no  reasonable  excuse  for  farther  delay,  he 
inwardly  repudiated  the  thought  of  departure.  He  even 
indicated  a  wish  to  delay  the  journey  beyond  the  time  Mr. 
Somers  had  designated.  A  piercing  look  of  inquiry  from 
that  gentleman  recalled  him  to  his  senses,  and  after  a 
moment  of  hesitation,  he  assented  to  the  arrangement. 
But  the  beautiful  dream  was  broken.  He  was  thrown  at 
once  into  a  tumult  of  emotion  >  Unwilling  to  expose  his 
agitation  to  the  observation  of  others,  he  went  directly  to 
his  room  and  locked  himself  in. 

After  sitting  half  an  hour  with  his  face  buried  in  his 
hands,  the  chaos  of  his  soul  formed  itself  into  definite  shape. 
His  first  clear  thought  was  this,  — ' '  Without  Adele,  my  life 
wilji  be  a  blank.  She  is  absolutely  necessary  to  my  exist- 
ence. I  must  win  her."  A  very  decided  conclusion  cer- 
tainly, for  a  young  gentleman  to  reach,  who  when  he  ar- 
rived at  this  house,  but  a  few  weeks  before,  seemed  to  be 
enjoying  a  liberal  share  of  hope  and  happiness.  The  ques- 
tion arose.  Does  she  care  for  me  ?  Does  she  regard  me 
with  any  special  interest  beyond  the  kindness  and  courtesy 
she  accords  to  all  her  father's  guests  ?  On  this  point,  he 
could  not  satisfy  himself.  He  was  torn  by  a  conflict  of 
doubt,  hope,  and  fear.  He  thought  her  not  averse  to  him. 
She  conversed,  sang,  and  rode  with  him  as  if  it  were  agree- 
able to  her.  .  Indeed  she  seemed  to  enjoy  his  society.  But 
she  was  equally  pleased  to  converse  and  ride  with  Mr. 
Somers  and  good  Mr.  Norton.    He  wa?  unable  to  deter- 


fi'mm 


■*iir 


166 


MIBAMICni. 


mine  the   Sentiments  she  really  cherished  arid  remained 
tossed  to  and  fro  in  painful  suspense  and  agitation. 

A  couple  of  hours  passed  and  found  him  in  the  same 
state.  Mr.  Somcrs  came  and  tapped  upon  his  door.  Un- 
willing to  awaken  a  suspicion  of  any  unusual  discomposure, 
John  opened  it  and  let  him  in. 

**  Hope  I  don't  intrude,"  said  Mr.  Somers,  "  but  I  want 
you  to  look  at  the  horse  Mumraychog  has  brought  for  me.'» 

**  Ah  t  yes,"  said  John,  and  seizing  his  hat,  he  accom- 
panied his  friend  to  the  stables* 

Their  observations  over,  they  returned  to  the  house. 

**  You  have  had  a  fit  of  solitude,  quite  unusual,  my  boy," 
said  Mr.  Somers,  planting  his  hand  on  John's  shoulder. 

"Yes,  quite.  For  a  novelty,  I  have  been  collecting  my 
thoughts."    John  meant  to  speak  in  a  gay,  indifferent  tone, 

and  thoua:ht  he  had  dohe  so,  but  this  was  a  mistake^ 

.  .  .  * 

Besides  he  had  in  fact  a  decidedly  conscious  look. 

*'If  you  have  any  momentous  affair  on  hand,  I  advise 
you  to  wait,  until  you  reach  home  before  you  decide  upon 
it,  my  boy,"  said  Mr.  Somers,  with  a  light  laugh,  but  a 
strong  emphasis  upon  the  word,  home. 

And  he  passed  up-stairs,  leaving  John,  standing  bewil- 
dered in  the  hall-door. 

♦*Ah!  Ned  has  discovered  it  all,"  said  he  to  himself. 
But  he  was  too  much  occupied  with  other  thoughts  to  be 
annoyed  by  it  now.  -i       v       >4  \ 

Mr,  Somers's  last  remark  had  turned  the  course  of  his 
meditations  somewhat.  He  began  to  question  what  opinion 
his  parents  might  have  in  regard  to  the  sentiments  he  cn- 


'f  i 


r 


MIBAMICHl. 


169 


tertainod  towards  Adele,  and  the  plan  ho  had  formed  of 
endeavoring  to  secure  her  love.  He  knew,  they  conaidercd 
him  as  yet  hardly  out  of  boyhood.  He  had  indeed,  until 
within  a  few  weeks,  looked  upon  himself  Ii  ^hat  light. 

Not  yet  freed  from  college  halls,  —  would  they  not 
think  him  foolish  and  precipitate  ?  Would  they  approve  his 
choice  ? 

But  these  queries  and  others  of  like  character  he  disposed 
of  summarily  and  decisively.  He  felt  that,  no  matter  how 
recently  he  had  passed  the  limits  of  boyhood  and  become 
a  man,  it  was  no  boy's  passion  that  now  swayed  his  whole 
being,  it  seemed  to  him  that,  should  he  make  the  effort, 
he  could  not  expel  it  from  his  soul.  But  he  did  not  wish 
to  make  the  effort.     Adele  was  worthy  the  love  of  any  man . 

It  had  been  his  fortune  to  find  a  jewel,  when  he  least  ex- 
pected it.  Why  should  he  not  avail  himsolf  of  the  golden 
opportunity  and  secure  the  treasure?  ^(i^ould  his  parents 
approve  his  choice?  Certainly,  Adele  wars  **  beautiful  as  the 
Houries  and  wise  as  Zobelde."  Conside/  ations  of  policy  and 
expediency,  which  sometimes  appear  oa  the  mpntal  horizon 
of  older  people,  wore  quite  unknown  to  our  young  hero. 

So  he  returned  to  the  only  aspect  of  the  case  that  gave 
him  real  disquiet.  He  had  fears  respecting  Adele's  senti- 
ments towards  himself,  and  doubts  of  his  ability  to  inspire 
in  her  a  love  equal  to  his  own.  But  he  must  be  left  for 
the  present  to  adjust  himself  to  his  new  situation  as  best 
he.cen.  ,  .:,.?  -■. 


tm*» 


Kif.    :-,■ 


CHAPTER  XXI. 


TROUBLED   IIEABTS* 


^  On  the  afternoon  of  the  day  following,  Ad^lo  was  sit* 
ing  alone  in  the  parlor.  She  held  a  book  in  her  hand,  but 
evidently  it  did  not  much  interest  her,  aa  her  eyes  wan- 
dered continually  from  its  pages  and  rested,  abstractedly, 
upon  any  object  they  happened  to  meet. 

She  felt  lonely,  and  wondered  why  Mr.  Lansdowne  did 
not,  as  usual  at  that  hour,  come  to  the  parlor.  She 
thought  how  vacant  and  sad  her  life  would  be,  after  he  and 
Mr.  Somers  had  departed  from  Miramichi.  She  queried 
whether  she  should  ever  meet  them  again ;  whether,  indeed, 
either  of  them,  after  a  short  time,  would  ever  think  of  the 
acquaintances  they  had  formed  here,  except  when  recalled 
by  some  accident  of  memory,  or  association*  She  feared 
they  might  wholly  forget  all  these  scenes,  fraught  with  so 
much  interest  and  pleasure  to  her,  and  that  fear  took  pos- 
session of  her  heart  and  made  her  almost  miserable.'  She 
«trove  to  turn  her  mind  upon  her  favoi  ite  project  of  return- 
ing with  her  p:;rent8,  to  France.  But,  notwithstanding 
her  efforts,  her  thoughts  lingered  around  the  departing 
gentlemen,  and  the  close  of  her  acquaintance  with  them. 


MIBAMIGIU. 


xn 


Suddenly  she  heard  Mr.  Lansdowne's  step  approaching 
the  room.  Conscious  that  her  heart  was  at  this  moment 
in  her  eyes,  she  hastily  threw  the  book  upon  the  table. 
Taking  her  embroidery,  she  bent  her  attention  closely 
upon  it,  thus  veiling  the  tell-tale  orbs,  with  their  long 
dark  lashes. 

She  looked  up  a  moment,  as  he  entered,  to  give  him  a 
nod  of  recognition.  A  flash  of  lightning  will  reveal  at 
once  the  whole  paraphernalia  of  a  room,  even  to  its  re- 
motest corners ;  or  disclose  the  scenery  of  an  entire  land- 
scape, in  its  minutest  details,  each  previously  wrapt  by  the 
darkness  in  perfect  mystery ;  so,  one  single  glance  of  the 
eye  may  unveil  and  discover  a  profound  secret,  that  has 
hitherto  never  been  indicated,  by  either  word  or  motion. 
By  that  quick  glance,  Adele  saw  Mr.  Lansdowne'a  face, 
vry  pale  with  the  struggle  he  had  just  gone  through,  and 
a  strange  light  glowing  from  his  eyes,  that  caused  her  to 
withdraw  her  own  immediately. 

Her  heart  beat  rapidly, —  she  was  conscious  that  a  tide 
of  crimson  was  creeping  up  to  her  cheek,  and  felt  herself 
tremulous  in  every  limb,  as  Mr.  Lansdowne  approached 
and  drew  a  seat  near  her.  But  pride  came  to  her  aid. 
One  strong  effort  of  the  will,  and  the  young  creature  * 
novice  as  she  was  in  the  arts  of  society,  succeeded  in 
partially  covering  the  flutter  and  agitation  of  spirit  caused 
by  the  sudden  discovery  of  her  lover's  secret. 

"When  do  you  expect  your  father's  return,  Miss 
Adele ?  "  inquired  Mr.  Lansdowne.  » ,'  ^ 

*'  In  a  day  or  two,"  was  the  reply. 


172 


iURAMIOm. 


**  Do  you  kno^  that  my  uncle  and  I  will  be  obliged  to 
leave  our  newly-found  friends  here,  soon  after  your  father 
gets  home  ?  " 

**  I  know,"  replied  Adele,  with  apparent  calmness,  **  that 
Mr.  Somers's  health  has  greatly  improved  and  I  supposed 
you  would  probably  go  away  soon." 

**  Pardon  me,  Miss  Adele,"  said  John,  in  a  voice  that 
betrayed  his  emotion,  *  *  but  shall  you  miss  us  at  all  ?  Shall 
you  regret  our  absence  ?  " 

Again  Adele*s  heart  bounded  quickly.  She  felt  irritated 
and  ashamed  of  its  tumult. 

By  another  strong  efibrt,  she  answered  simply,  **  Cer- 
tainly, Mr.  Lansdowne,  we  shall  all  miss  you.  You  have 
greatly  enlivened  our  narrow  family  circle.  We  shall  be 
very  sorry  to  lose  you." 

How  indifferent  she  is,  thought  John.  She  does  not 
dream  of  my  love. 

*<  Miss  Adele,"  he  exclaimed  passionately,  <*it  will  be 
the  greatest  calamity  of  my  life  to  leave  you." 

For  a  moment,  the  young  girl  was  silent.  His  voice 
both  thrilled  and  fascinated  her.  Partly  proud,  partly  shy, 
like  the  bird  who  shuns  the  snare  set  for  it,  only  fluttering 
its  wings  over  the  spot  for  an  instant,  and  then  flying  to  a 
greater  distance,  Adele  bestirred  her  powers  and  resolved 
not  to  suffer  herself  to  be  drawn  into  the  meshes.  She 
felt  a  new,  strange  influence  creeping  over  her,  to  which 
she  was  half  afraid,  half  too  haughty  to  yield  without  a 
struggle.     • 

"  Mr.  Lansdowne,  X  am  happy  to  learn  you  place  some 


MIIIAMICIU. 


173 


Talue  on  our  friendship,  as  we  do  on  yours.  But  surely, 
your  own  home,  such  as  you  have  described  it  to  me,  must 
be  the  most  attractive  spot  on  earth  to  you." 

**  Is  it  pc  sible,"  said  Mr.  Lansdowno  vehemently,  taking 
her  hand  and  holding  it  fust  in  his,  **  that  you  cannot  un- 
derstand me,  —  that  you  do  not  know  that  I  love  you 
infinitely  more  than  father,  or  mother,  or  any  human 
creature  ?  " 

Surprised  at  the  abruptness  of  this  outburst,  bewildered 
and  distressed  by  her  own  conflicting  emotions,  Adele 
knew  not  what  to  say,  and  wished  only  to  fly  away  into 
solitude  that  she  might  collect  her  scattered  powers. 

**  Mr.  Lansdowne,  I  am  not  prepared  for  this.  Let  me 
go.     I  must  leave  you,"  she  exclaimed.  .      *'\» 

Suddenly  drawing  her  hand  from  his,  she  fled  to  her  own 
room,  locked  the  door  and  burst  into  a  passionate  flood  of 
tears.  Poor  child  I  Her  lover  with  his  unpractised  hand, 
had  opened  a  new  chapter  in  her  life,  too  precipitately. 
She  was  not  prepared  for  its  revelations,  and  the  shock  had 
shaken  her  a  little  too  rudely. 

John  remained  sitting,  white  and  dumb,  as  if  a  thunder- 
bolt had  fallen  upon  him. 

"  Gone  I  gone  1 "  he  exclaimed  at  length,  **  she  does  not 
love  me  I  And,  fool  that  I  was,  I  have  frightened  her  from 
jne  forever ! "  . 

He  bowed  his  head  upon  the  table  and  uttered  a  groan 
of  despair.  ..  • .  ^ 

Mr.  Lansdowne  returned  to  the  solitude  of  his  own  room, 

sufficiently  miserable.    He  feared  he  had  offended  Adele 

150  :.....-■'■; 


*PP" 


174 


MIBAMIOHI. 


past  healing.  Looking  over  the  events  of  the  week,  he 
thought  he  could  perceive  that  she  had  been  teased  by 
his  attentions,  and  that  she  wished  to  indicate  this  by  the 
coolness  of  her  manner  and  words  to  him,  during  their 
recent  interview.  And  he  had  recklessly,  though  unwit- 
tingly, put  the  climax  to  her  annoyance  by  this  abrupt  dis- 
closure of  his  love.  He  berated  himself  uL-inercifully  for 
his  folly.  For  a  full  hour,  he  believed  that  his  blundering 
impetuosity  had  cost  him  the  loss  of  Adele  forever. 

But  it  is  hard  for  hope  to  forsake  the  young.  It  can 
never  wholly  leave  any  soul,  except  by  a  slow  process  of 
bitter  disappointment.  John  saw  that  he  had  made  a  mis- 
take. The  strength  and  tumult  of  his  passion  for  Adele  had 
led  him  thoughtlessly  into  what  probably  appeared  to  her, 
an  attempt  to  storm  the  citadel  of  her  heart,  and  in  her  pride, 
she  had  repulsed  him. 

•;  -  He  bethought  him  that  there  were  gentler  modes  of 
reaching  that  seat  of  life  and  love.  He  became  a  tactician. 
He  resolved  he  would,  by  his  future  conduct,  perhaps  by 
some  chance  word,  indicate  to  Adele  that  he  understood 
her  repulse  and  did  not  intend  to  repeat  his  offence.  He 
would  not  hereafter  seek  her  presence  unduly,  but  when 
they  were  thrown  together,  would  show  himself  merely 
gentle  and  brotherly.  And  then,  — ~  he  would  trust  to  time, 
to  circumstances,  to  his  lucky  star,  to  bring  her  to  his  side. 

In  the  mean  time,  after  her  tears  had  subsided,  Adele 
found,  somewhat  to  her  surprise,  that  this  sudden  disturb- 
ance of  her  usual  equilibrium  came  from  the  very  deep 
interest  she  felt  for  Mr.  Lansdowne.     And,  moreover,  she 


// 


' 


MIBAMICHI. 


175 


was  annoyed  to  find  it  so,  and  did  not  at  all  like  to  own  it 
to  herself.  Naturally  proud,  self-relying,  and  in  the  habit 
of  choosing  her  own  path,  she  had  an  instinctive  feeling 
that  this  new  passion  ^  might  lay  upon  her  a  certain  thrall- 
dom,  not  congenial  to  her  haughty  spirit.  This  conscious- 
ness made  her  distant  and  reserved,  when  she  again  met 
Mr.  Lansdowne  at  the  tea-table. 

In  ftxct,  the  manner  of  each  towards  the  other  had  wholly 
changed. 

John  was  calm,  respectful,  gentle,  but  made  no  effort  to 
draw  Adele's  attention.  After  tea  he  asked  Mrs.  Dubois 
to  play  backgammon  with  him. 

Adele  worked  on  her  embroidery,  and  Mr.  Somers  sat 
beside  her,  sketching  on  paper  with  his  pencil,  various  bits  of 
ruin  and  scenery  in  Europe,  mixed  up  with  all  sorts  of 
grotesque  shapes  and  monsters.  Mr.  Lansdowne  ap- 
peared, all  the  evening,  so  composed,  so  natural,  and 
simply  brotherly,  that  when  Adele  went  to  her  room  for  the 
night,  the  interview  of  the  afternoon  seemed  almost  like  a 
dream .  She  thought  that  the  peculiar  reception  she  had  given 
to  his  avowal ,  mlgl:t  have  quite  disenchanted  her  lover.  And 
the  thought  disturbed  her.  After  much  questioning  and 
surmising,  she  went  to  sleep.  .    ^ 

The  next  day  and  the  next,  Mr.  Lansdowne's  manner  to- 
wards Adele  continued  the  same.  She  supposed  he  might 
lenetv  the  subject  of  their  last  conversation,  but  he  did  not, 
although  several  opportunities  pre;2*3nted,  when  he  might 
have  done  so.  Occasionally,  she  strove  to  read  his  emotions 
by  observing  hia  countenance,  but  his  eyes  were  averted  to 


^0 


apw 


176 


MIBAMICHI. 


other  objects.  He  no  longer  glanced  towards  her.  **Ah  I 
well,"  said  Adele  to  herself,  "  his  affection  for  me  could 
not  be  so  easily  repulsed,  were  it  so  very  profound.  I 
will  care  nothing  for  him."  And  yet,  somehow,  her 
footstep  lagged  wearily  and  her  eye  occasionally  gathered 
mists  oil  its  bright-ness. 

It  was  now  the  eve  of  the  fifth  of  October.  An  u jnat- 
ural  heat  prevailed,  consequent  on  the  long  drought,  the 
horizon  was  skirted  with  a  smoky  haze  and  the  atmosphere 
was  exceedingly  oppressive.  Mrs.  Dubois,  who  was  suf- 
fering from  a  severe  headache,  sat  in  the  parlor,  half  buried 
in  the  cushions  of  an  easy-chair.  Adele  stood  beside  her, 
bathing  her  head  with  perfumed  water,  while  Mr.  Somers, 
prostrated  by  the  weather,  lay,  apparently  asleep,  upon  a 
sofa.  ■  ■'  \}-"^M^ 

"That  will  do,  Adele,"  said  Mrs.  Dubois,  making  a 
slight  motion  towards  her  daughter.  "That  will  do,  ma 
cherc,  my  head  is  cooler  now.  Go  out  and  watch  for  your 
father.     He  will  surely  be  here  to-night.*' 

Adele  stepped  softly  out,  through  the  window  upon  the 
balcony. 

A  few  minutes  after,  Mr.  Lansdowne  came  to  the  parlor 
door,  looked  in,  inquired  for  Mrs.  Dubois's  headache,  gazed 
for  a  moment,  at  the  serene  face  of  the  sleeper  on  the  sofa, 
and  then,  perceiving  Adele  sitting  outside,  impelled  by  an 
irresistible  impulse,  went  out  and  joined  her. 

She  was  leaning  her  head  upon  her  hand,  with  her  arm 
supported  by  a  low,  rude  balustrade,  that  ran  round  the 
edge  of  the   balcony,  and  was  looking  earnestly  up  the 


V 

u 


* 


ma 


MIRAMICHI. 


177 


road,  to  catch  the  first  glimpse  of  her  father.  Her  counte- 
nance had  a  subdued,  sad  expression.  She  was  indeed 
very  unhappy.  The  distance  and  reserve  that  had  grown 
up  so  suddenly  between  herself  and  Mr.  Lansdowne  had 
become  painful  to  her.  She  would  have  rejoiced  to  return 
once  more  to  their  former  habits  of  frank  and  vivacious 
conversation.  But  she  waited  for  him  to  renew  the  famil- 
iarity of  the  past. 

She  turned  her  head  towards  him  as  he  approached,  and 
without  raising  her  eyes,  said,  *'  Good  evening,  Mr. 
Lansdowne."  He  bowed,  sat  down,  and  they  remained 
several  minutes  in  silence. 

*'  I  suppose,"  said  John,  atT length,  making  a  desperate 
effort  to  preserve  a  composure  of  manner,  entirely  at  vari- 
ance with  the  tumultuous  throbbings  of  his  heart,  "  you  are 
confident  of  your  father's  return  to-night  ?  " 

*'  O,  yes.  I  look  for  him  every  moment.  I  am  quite 
anxious  to  hear  the  result  of  the  expedition." 

**  I  am,  also.  I  hope  no  harm  will  come  to  our  good 
friend,  Mr.  Norton.  Do  you  know  whether  he  intends  to 
spend  the  winter  here.  Miss  Adele  ?  " 

'*  I  think  lie  will  return  to  his  family.  But  we  shall 
endeavor  to  retain  him,  until  we  go  ourselves." 

**  You  go.  Miss  Adele,"  exclaimed  John,  unable  to  con- 
ceal his  eager  interest,  "  do  you  leave  here?" 

"  We  go  to  France  next  month."  - 

"  To  France  I  "  repeated  the  young  man. 
"My  father  and  mother  are  going  to  visit  their  early 
home.     I  shall  accompany  them."    * 


mmmmmm 


178 


MIRAMICm. 


John,  aroused  by  Information  containing  so  much  of  im- 
portance in  regard  to  Adele's  future,  could  not  restrain 
himself  from  prolonging  the  conversation.  Adele  was 
willing  to  answer  his  inquiries,  and  in  a  few  minutes  they 
were  talking  almost  as  freely  and  frankly  aa-  in  the  days 
before  Mr.  Lansdowne's  unfortunately  rash  avowal  of  his 
passion. 

Suddenly  a  thick  cloud  of  dust  appeared  in  the  road,  and 
Mr,  Dubois,  Mr.  Norton,  and  Micah,  were  soon  distin- 
guished turning  the  heads  of  their  horses  towards  the  house. 

Adele  uttered  an  exclamation  of  joy,  and  bounded  from    ii' 
her  seat.     As  Mr.  Lansdowne  made  way  for  her  to  reach 
the  window,  she  glanced  for  a  mon<ent  at  his  face,  ond  there 
beheld  again  the -strange  light    glowing  in  his  eyes.     It 
communicated  a  great  hope  to  her  heart.  ' 

She  hastened  past  him  to  greet  her  father.  ^f 


'■"    ■  t„ 


'  m: 


;-^('i^     fK  ;;•;,;;.,!•  i-Vt^-v.Jt-J-   {^^^ 


-'J- 


CHAPTER  ^LXn. 


A  MEMORABLE   EVENT. 


TilSl'iV 


It 


Thk  mornitig  of  the  sixth  of  October  dawned.  The  heat 
of  the  weather  had  Increased  and  become  wellnigh  intol- 
erable. At  breakfast,  Mr.  Dubois  and  Mr.  Norton  gave 
acGounti  of  ^res  they  had  seen  in  various  parts  of  the 
country,  iome  of  them  not  far  off,  and  owing  to  the  prev- 
alence of  the  forest  and  the  extreme  dryness  of  the  trees 
and  shrubs,  expressed  fears  of  great  devastation. 

They  united  in  thinking  it  would  be  dangerous  for  the 
two  gentlemen  to  undertake  their  journey  home,  until  a 
copioum  rain  should  have  fallen. 

During  the  forenoon,  the  crackling  of  the  fires  and  the 
sound  of  falling  trees  in  the  distant  forest  could  be  distinctly 
heard,  nnnounoing  that  the  terrible  element  was  at  work, 

Mr,  Dubol»,  accompanied  by  Mr.  Norton  and  John, 
ascenftc'  *ie  most  prominent  hills  In  the  neighborhood  to 
watcK  the  direction  in  which  the  clouds  of  smoke  appeared. 
These  observations  only  confirmed  their  fears.  They 
warned  the  pedple  around  of  the  danger,  but  these  paid 
little  heed.  In  the  afternoon,  the  missionary  crossed, 
from  the  Dubois  house,  on  the  northern  side  of  the  river, 


180 


HiUAmom, 


to  the  southern  Umik,  nnd  explored  the  country  to  a  con 
siderablo  dlatanm  Afouml* 

In  tho  evmlnyif  ¥/\mt  the  family  met  in  the  Madonna 
room,  cheerfulne/ix  h«Ml  f^;f«iflken  the  party.  The  languor 
produced  by  the  Umi  «nd  the  heavily-laden  atmosphere, 
solicitude  Mi  for  i\m  dwdlcrM  in  the  forest,  through  which 
the  xiM-  wfls  now  MW6i;pln^«  a  hoarse  rumbling  noise  like 
distil /^  thunder,  omnnutmUy  booming  on  their  earj,  and 
p'ioom^  forebodiw^s  of  hnpending  calamity,  all  weighed 
i,  ]  oii  the  dispirited  group,  i 

Jilr  Norton  m\d  H  was  his  firm  conviction  that  God 
was  about  to  display  Witt  power  in  a  signal  manner  to  this 
people  in  order  to  Mimm  them  to  a  sense  of  their  guilt. 

Before  septtr«tl«j(  for  the  night,  he  requested  permission 
to  offer  up  «  prttyer  Up  heaven.  The  whole  circle  knelt, 
while  he  imploreil  i\m  (irent  lluler  of  all,  to  take  them  as 
a  family  under  UU  protecting  love,  whether  life  or  death 
awaited  them,  ttwd  thrtt  lie  would,  if  consistent  with  His 
great  and  wm  [AmUf  avert  J  lis  wrath  from  the  people. 

The  night  wm  a  iVmtnh\f  and  for  the  most  of  the  family, 
a  sleepless  one#  Tho  inimiing  rose  once  more,  but  it 
brought  no  cheerh)^  wound  of  blessed  rain-drops.  The  air 
was  still  hot  ftiul  «f  if llri^#  • 

About  noon,  t\m  mUnumnry  come  in  from  a  round^f  ob- 
servation he  had  hmn  making,  and  urged  Mr.  Dubois  to 
take  his  family  hnmediately  to  the  south  bank  of  the  river. 
The  fire*  were  ftd^MK^ing  tc^ardf  them  from  the  north, 
and  would  IrmvitfMy  im  up<m  them  soon.  He  had  not  been 
able  to  dmQwm  my  n^penraoce  of  fire  upon  the  Bouthern 


\\ 


.  ^ 


r. 


MIBAMICm. 


181 


1  ■    - 

w 


.i  h 


side  of  the  river.  It  was  true  the  approaching  flames 
might  be  driven  aci;pss,  but  the  stream  being  for  some 
distance  quite  wide,  this  might  not  take  place.  In  any 
event,  the  southern  side  was  the  safest,  at  the  present 
moment.  He  had  faith  in  the  instinct  of  animals,  and  for 
several  hours  past  he  had  seen  cattle  and  geese  leaving 
their  usual  places  of  resort  and  swimming  to  the  opposite 
shore. 

i  Mr.  Dubois,  also  convinced  that  there  was  no  other 
feasible  method  of  escape,  hastened  to  make  arrangements 
for  immediate  departure. 

A  mist,  tinged  with  deep  purple,  now  poured  in  from 
the  wilderness  and  overspread  the  horizon.  A  dark  cloud 
wrapped  the  land  in  a  dismal  gloom.  The  heat  grew  nearly 
insupportable.  Bapid  explosions,  loud  and  startling  noises, 
filled  the  air,  and  the  forest  thrilled  and  shook  with  the 
raging  flames.  Soon  a  fiery  belt  encircled  them  on  the 
east,  north,  and  west,  and  advancing  rapidly,  threatened 
to  cover  the  whole  area.  The  river  was  the  only  object 
which,  by  any  possibility,  could  stay  its  course. 

Then  followed  a  scene  of  wildest  confusion.  The  people, 
aroused  at  last  to  their  danger,  rushed  terrified  to  the  river, 
unmoored  their  boats  and  fled  across.  Hosts  of  women, 
whose  husbands  were  absent  in  the  forest,  came  with  their 
children,  imploring  to  be  taken  to  the  other  side.  The 
remainder  of  the  day  was  occupied  in  this  work,  and  at  the 
close  of  it,  most  of  those  living  in  the  Dubois  settlement 
had  been  safely  landed  on  the  southern  shore ;  and  there 
they  st;ood  huddled  together  in  horror-stricken  groups, 
16 


Mi 


182 


MIRA3UCni. 


I  I 


fi 


on  tho   higheat  points   they  could  reacb,   watching  the 
terrible,  yet  majestic  scene. 

Mr.  Somers  hiid  been  occupied  in  this  way  all  the  after- 
noon and  was  greatly  exhausted.  As  the  iiarkness  of  night 
shut  down  upon  the  scene,  he  laLiv.l  a  party  of  women 
and  children,  who  rushed  up:  precipitately,  to  join  those 
who  had  crossed  before.  He  had  handed  the  last  passenger 
over  the  edge  of  the  boat,  when  a  sudden  faintness,  pro- 
duced by  the  excessive  heat  and  fatigue,  overpowered  him. 
He  tottered  backward  and  fell,  striking  his  Iiead  violently 
upon  some  object  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat.  It  was  a 
defithblow. 

There  he  lay,  with  face  upturned  towards  the  lurid  glare 
that  lit  up  the  darkness.  The  boat  nestled  iibout  in  the 
little  cove,  rocked  upon  the  waves,  presenting  the  pale 
countenance,  now  half  in  shadow,  now  wholly  concealed  by 
the  overhanging  shrubs,  and  now  in  full  relief,  but  always 
with  a  sweet,  radiant,  immovable  calm  upon  the  features, 
in  strange  contrast  to  the  elemental  roar  and  tumult  around 
him. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  fires  drew  nearer  and  nearer 
ihe  northern  bank  of  the  river.  A  strong  breeze  sprang 
up  and  immense  columns  of  smoke  mounted  to  the  sky. 
Then  came  showers  of  ashes,  cinders  and  burning  brands. 
At  last,  a  tornado,  terrible  in  fury,  arose  to  mingle  its 
horrors  with  the  fire.  Thunderbolt  on  thunderbolt,  crash 
on  crash  rent  the  air.  At  intervals  of  momentary  lull  in 
the  storm,  the  roar  of  the  flames  was  heard.  Rapidly  ad- 
vancing, they  shot  fiery  tongues  into  every  beast  lair  of  the 


5 


MIBAMIOHI. 


183 


forest,  into  every  serpeiic-hannted  crovice  of  the  rock, 
sendln*;  forth  their  denizer^  bellowing  and  writhing  with 
aDguleti  and  death ;  onward  atill  they  rushed  licking  up 
w!c'u  h'.rf'ji ng  sound  every  rivulet  and  shallow  pond,  twisting 
and  coi  in^  round  the  glorious  pines,  that  had  battled 
the  winds  and  tempests  hundreds  of  years,  but  now  to  be 
siiapi'^d  and  demolished  by  this  new  enemy. 

Wif-h  breathless  interest,  the  vahnbitants  of  the  settle- 
ment watchi^d  the  progress  of  the  flames.  The  hamlet 
where  they  ilved  was  situated  on  a  wide  point  of  land, 
around  which  the  MIramichi  made  nn  unusually  bold 
sweep.     MIcah's  Grove  partly  skirted  it  on  the  north. 

From  the  Grove  to  the  river,  the  forest-trees  had  been 
cleared,  leaving  the  open  space  dotted  with  the  houses  of 
the  settlers.  The  fire  pressed  steadily  on  toward  the 
Grove.  The  destruction  of  that  forest  fane,  consecrated 
so  recently  to  the  worship  of  God,  and  the  burning  of 
their  homes  and  earthly  goods  scemeu  inevitable.  The 
people,  with  pale,  excited  faces,  awaited  .his  heart-rending 
spectacle. 

Just  at  this  moment,  the  tornado,  coming  from  the 
North,  with  terrific  fury,  drawing  flames,  trees,  and  every 
movable  object  in  its  wake,  whirling  forward  with  gigantic 
power,  suddenly  turned  in  its  path,  veered  towards  the 
east,  swept  past  the  Grove  and  past  the  settlement,  leav- 
ing them  wholly  untouched,  and  took  its  d  .structive  course 
onward  to  the  ocean.  The  people  were  dumb  with  amaze- 
ment. Buin  had  seemed  so  sure  that  they  scarcely  trusted 
the  evidence  of  their  senses. 


184 


MmAIkllOHI. 


They  dared  not  even  think  they  had  been  sovcd  from  so 
much  misery.  For  a  time,  not  a  word  was  uttered,  not  a 
muscle  moved. 

Mr.  Mummychog  was  the  first  to  recover  his  voice. 

^''Tis  a  maraclel  and  nuthin'  else/'  ho  exclaimed, 
**  and  we've  jest  got  to  thank  Captin*  Norton  for  it.  He's 
been  a  prayin'  ut  we  might  be  past  by,  all  'long  and  't  is 
likely  the  Lord  has  heerd  him.  *  Tain't  on  oour  own  ac- 
ceounts,  mj  worthy  feller-sinners,  that  we've  been  spared. 
Mind  ye  remember  that" 

f  The  people  in  their  joy  gathered  around  the  missionary, 
and  united  with  Micah,  in  acknowledging  tHcir  belief,  that 
his  prayers  had  averted  from  them  this  great  calamity. 
For  a  moment,  their  attention  was  distracted  from  the  still 
raging  horrors  of  the  bcene  by  the  sense  of  relief  from 
threatened  danger,  '  "     .        ''« 

It  was  during  this  brief  lull  of  intense  anxiety  and  ex- 
pectation, that  our  friends  first  became  aware  of  the  absence 
of  Mr.  Somera.  They  had  supposed,  of  course,  that  he  was 
standing  somewhere  among  the  groups  of  people,  his  at- 
tention riveted,  like  their  own,  upon* the  scene  before  them. 
Adele  first  woke  to  the  consciousness  that  he  was  not  with 
thejn. 

She  turned  her  head  and  explored  with  earnest  gaze  the 
people  around.  She  could  see  distinctly  by  the  intense 
red  light,  nearly  every  countenance  there,  but  did  not 
recognize  that  of  Mr.  Somers.  A  painful  anxiety  immedi- 
ately seized  her,  which  she  strove  in  vain  to  conceal.  She 
approached  near  where  Mr.  Lansdowne  stood,  by  the  side 


//■ 


MIRAMICni. 


185 


of  her  mother,  gazing  after  the  fire,  placed  her  hand  lightly 
on  his  orm,  and  udked,  **  Can  you  tell  me  where  Mr. 
Somers  ia  to  be  found  ?  " 

**  Mr.  Soraeral  yes,  —  \(3d.  Where  ^  he?"  he  ex- 
cluimed,  turning,  half  bewildered  by  h<  (\-  stion,  and  look- 
ing in  her  face. 

In   an  instant,  the   solicitude   her      -at  expressed, 

passed  into  his  own,  the  same  sudden  pi^ocui.ment  of  evil 
possessed  him. 

Drawing  Adele's  arm  hurriedly  into  his,  he  said,  "  please 
go  with  me  to  seek  him.'* 

Hastening  along,  they  went  from  one  to  another,  making 
inquiries.  It  appeared  that  Mr.  Somers  had  not  been  seen 
for  several  hours.  .4 

Immediately,  the  whole  company  took  the  alarm  and  the 
search  for  him  commenced. 

John  and  Adele,  after  fruitless  efforts  among  the  houses, 
at  length«took  their  way  to  the  river  bank.  As  they  were 
hastening  forward,  a  woman  standing  upon  a  rock  over- 
hanging the  path  they  pursued,  told  them  that  Mr.  Somers 
brought  herself  and  children  over  in  the  boat,  just  at 
dark,  — that  she  had  not  seen  him  since,  and  she  remem- 
bered now,  that  she  did  not  see  him  come  up  froiu  the  river 
after  he  landed  them. 

"Lead  us  to  the  spot  where  you  left  the  boat,"  said 
Adele.     **  Go  on  as  quickly  as  you  can." 

The  woman  descended  from  her  perch  upon  the  rock  and 
plunged  before  them  into  the  path. 

« I  remember  now,"  she  said  mth  sudden  compunctions, 
16<» 


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33  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14S80 

(716)  872-4503 


iii.lLi.,>«j,  .V, 


186 


MIRAMIOHI. 


at  her  own  selfish  indifference,  <*  that  the  gentleman  looked 
pale  and  seemed  to  be  dreadful  tired  like." 

Neither  John  nor  Adele  made  reply,  and  the  woman 
hurried  on.  In  a  few  minutes,  a  sudden  turn  in  the  path 
brought  them  to  the  little  cove  where  the  boat  still  lay. 

The  woman  first  caught  sight  of  the  wan  face  in  the 
bottom  of  the  boat,  and  uttered  a  scream  of  horror.  The 
lips  of  the  others  were  frozen  into  silence  by  the  dread 
spectacle. 

Scarcely  a  moment  seemed  to  have  passed,  before  John 
rushed  down  into  the  water,  reached  the  boat,  raised  thence 
the  lifeless  form,  bore  it  to  the  shore  and  laid  the  dripping 
head  into  the  arms  of  Adele,  who  seated  herself  on  the 
grass  to  receive  it. 

**  Go  quickly,"  she  said  to  the  woman,  **go  for  Dr. 
Wright.  I  saw  him  only  a  moment  ago.  Find  him  and 
bring  him  here." 

John  threw  himself  upon  his  knees  and  began  chafing 
Mr.  Somers's  hands.  <<  He  is  dead !  he  is  dead  I "  he  whis- 
pered, in  a  voice,  hoarse  and  unnatural  with  fear  and 
anxiety. 

**  Let  us  hope  not,"  said  Adele  in  a  tone  of  tenderness. 
"Perhaps  it  is  only  a  swoon.  We  will  convey  him  to 
some  shelter  and  restore  him."  And  she  wrung  the  rain 
from  his  curls  of  long  brown  hair. 

John's  finger  was  upon  Mr.  Somers's  wrist.  *<  It  will 
break  my  mother's  heart,"  he  said,  in  the  same  hoarse  whis* 
per.  At  that  moment.  Dr.  Wright'i^  voice  was  heard.  He 
placed  himself,  without  a  word,  upon  the  grass,  looked  at 


\. 


MIBAMICHI. 


187 


the  pale  face,  unfastened  the  dripping  gaiments,  thrust  his 
hand  in  beneath  them,  and  laid  It  upon  the  young  man's 
heart. 

**  He  is  dead  1 "  said  Dr.  Wright.  "  Friends,  get  a  bit 
of  canvas  and  a  blanket  nnd  take  him  to  some  house,  till 
(lay  breaks." 

John,  stupefied  with  horror  and  grief,  still  knelt  by  Mr. 
Somers,  chafing  his  hands  and  wringing  the  water  from  his 
wet  garments.  At  length,  Mr.  Dul^ois  gently  roused  him 
from  his  task,  telling  him  they  would  now  remove  their 
friend  to  a  house,  where  he  mighi  be  properly  cared  for. 

**  Let  me  lift  him, "  said  Micah  to  the  young  man.  But 
John  shook  his  head  and  stooping,  raised  Mr.  Somers  and 
laid  him  on  the  canvas  as  gently  as  if  he  were  a  sleeping 
infant. 

Mr.  Bubois,  ithe  missionary,  John,  and  Micah  conveyed 
the  precious  charge.  The  Doctor,  with  Mrs.  Dubois  and 
Ad^le  followed  in  melancholy  silence.  The  crowd  came 
behind.  The  terrific  events  of  the  night  had  made  the 
people  quiet,  thoughtful,  and  sympathetic. 

Once,  after  the  prolonged,  clinging  gaze  of  each  upon 
the  face  of  the  sleeper,  the  eyes  of  the  missionary  and  John 
met. 

'*  My  dear  young  man,"  said  Mr.  Norton,  in  a  low, 
emphatic  voice,  **  God  has  taken  him  in  mercy.  The  dear 
friend  whom  we  loved,  is  himself  satisfied,  I  doubt 
not.  May  the  Eternal  Father  grant  us  all  at  the  end  of 
our  course  here  a  like  blessed  deliverance.    Amen." 

John  looked  in  the  good  man's  face,  as  if  he  but  half 


-# 


188 


MIBAMICHI. 


understood  his  words,  and  fixed  his  eyes  again  upon  Mr. 
Somers. 

At  length,  the  party  reached  a  house  near  the  river  bank, 
where  they  deposited  the  dead. 

Mrs.  McNab,  who.  had  followed  close  on  their  footsteps, 
when  they  reached  the  door,  drew  Adele  aside  and  said, 
**  Naw,  Miss  Ady,  I  want  the  preevaleege  o*  trying  to  re- 
soositate  that  puir  gentelman.  It  wad  be  like  rasin'  the 
dead,  but  there  '11  be  nae  harm  in  tryin',  to  be  sure." 

**  He  is  dead.  The  doctor  says  so.  Aunt  Patty."  And 
Adele  turned  away  quickly. 

But  Mrs.  McNab  caught  her  shawl  and  held  it. 

<*Naw,  Miss  Ady,  dinna  turn  awa'  fram  a  puir  body, 
that  was  overtook  ance  or  twice  with  the  whiskey ,  when 
a  was  tired  and  worrit  for  want  o'  sleep.  I  wad  nae  ha' 
hurt  a  hair  o'  the  gentelman's  head.  An'  I  wad.like  the 
preevaleege  o'  wrappin''  Some  blankets  round  him  an'  puttin' 
some  bottles  o'  hot  water  to  his*  feet." 

Adele,  who  bad  listened  more  patiently  u..a  she 
was  wont,  now  turned  and  glancing  at  Aunt  Patty,  saw 
that  she  really  looked  humble  and  wishful,  and  two  great 
tears  were  in  her  eyes. 

**  Well,  I  will  see,"  said  she,  struck  with  this  new  phase 
of  Mrs,  McNab's  countenance.  She  went  into  the  apart- 
ment, where  they  had  just  laid  Mr.  Somers  upon  a  bed. 

In  a  few  minutes,  she  returned.  ^ 

<*  The  doctor  says  it  will  be  of  no  use.  Aunt  Patty. 
But  Mr.  Lansdowne  woulcl  like  to  make  an  attempt  to 
restore  him.    So  come,  ntamma  and  I  will  help  you." 


\ 


■» 


inRAMiom. 


189 


* 


Notwithstanding  Mrs.  McNab's  subdued  state  of  mind 
and  her  genuine,  unselfish  wish  to  do  all  in  her  power  to 
bring  consciousness  to  the  stricken  form,  she  could  not 
avoid,  as  she  made  one  application  after  another,  makidg 
also  a  few  indicative  observations  to  Mrs.  Dubois. 

**  Did  ye  hear  what  the  preacher  said  to  the  young  mon. 
as  we  cam*  alang?    He 's  a  mighty  quick  way  o*  desmeesin 
a'  bonnie  creetur  like  this  out  o*  the  warld  and  sayin'  he 's 
satisfied  aboot  it." 

"That  .was  not  what  the  missionary  said,  Mrs.  M> 
Nab,"  replied  Mrs.  Dubois.  **  He  said  that  Mr.  Somers  is 
happy  now.  .  He  is  in  Paradise,  and  we  must  not  wish  him 
back.  He  is  satbfied  to  be  with  Jesus  and  the  angels  and 
his  own  mother.  That  is  what  he  meant.  And  does  he 
not  look  satisfied  ?    See  his  blissful  countenance  I " 

Mrs.  Dubois  leaded  over  him  a  moment,  and  thinking  of 
his  sister,  Mrs.  Lansdowne,  parted  his  hair  with  her  pale, 
slender  fingers  and  imprinted  a  kiss  on  his  forehead. 

All  efforts  to  restore  warmth,  or  life  to  that  marble  form 
were  in  vain,  and  at  length  they  covered  his  face  gently, 
until  the  day-dawn. 

John  sat  by  the  bedside,  his  head  buried  in  his  hands, 
until  morning.  He  thought  over  all  his  past  companion- 
ship with  this  youthful  Uncle  Ned,  of  his  pleasantness, 
wit  and  fascination,  of  his  generous  spirit,  of  his  love  for 
his  mother  and  himself,  and  wondered  at  the  awful  strange- 
ness that  had  thlis  fallen,  in  a  moment,  between  them. 
Then  the  thought  of  his  mother's  bitter  grief  swept  over 
him  like  a  flood  and  nearly  unmanned  him.    Like  the 


I 


190 


MTRAMTOHI. 


drowning  man,  his  brain  was-  stimulated  to  an  unwonted 
activity.  He  lived  over  again  his  whole  life,  in  a  few  min- 
utes of  time.  This  dread  Power,  who  had  never  crossed 
his  path  before,  shocked  him  inexpressibly.  Who  of  the 
young,  unstricken  by  sorrow,  ever  associates  death  with 
himself  or  with  those  he  loves,  till  the  Arch  Reaper  comes 
some  day  and  cuts  down  and  gamers  his  precious  treasure  ? 

John  had  heard  of  death,  but  he  had  heard  of  it  just  as 
he  had  heard  of  the  poisonous  Upas-tree,  growing  on  some 
distant  ocean  island,  or  of  an  evil  star,  under  whose  bale- 
ful influence  he  might  never  fall. 

The  young  live  as  if  this  life  were  immortal.  So  much 
the  more  bitter  their  experience,  when  they  wake  up  from 
the  delusion. 

The  Others  of  the  party  were  gathered  in  an  adjoining 
room,  gazing  silently  at  the  scene  without.  It  was  fearful, 
yet  sublime.  The  whole  northern  side  of  the*  Miramichi 
river,  for  over  one  hundred  miles,  had  become  involved  in 
one  mighty  sheet  of  flame,  which  was  sweeping  on  in 
swift  destruction  to  the  Gulf  of  St.  Lawrence.  The  river 
boiled  with  the  fierce  heat  and  tossed  its  foaming  waters, 
filled  with  its  now  lifeless  inhabitants,  to  the  shore.  The 
fire  was  fed  by  six  thousand  square  miles  of  primeval  for- 
est, — >a  dense  growth  of  resinous  trees*  —  by  houses  and 
bams  filled  with  crops,  and  'by  thriving  towns  upon  the 
river's  bank.  "^ 

Above  all,  the  people  could  not  put  fipside  the  horrible 
tmth,  that  hundreds  of  men,  women,  and  children,  —  their 
friends  and  their  acquaintances,  -—were  perishing  by  the  all- 


MmAMXom. 


191 


onted 
rmin- 
rossed 
)f  the 
I  with 
comes 
Eisurq?    ' 
just  as 
a  some 
)  bale- 

I  much 
p  from 

joining 
'eaxful} 
ramichi 
lived  in 
on  in 
le  river 
waters, 
The 
val  for- 
ses  and 
)on  the 

orrible 
—  their 
theall- 


oonsuming  element.  Thej  could  not  exclude  from  fancy f 
the  agonized  and  dying  shrieks  of  those  dear  to  them^  and 
the  demoniac  light  shone  on  countenances,  expressing 
emotions  of  pity,  grief,  horror,  and  despair. 

While  the  missionary  sat  there  waiting  for  the  day,  he 
recalled  with  startling  distinctness  the  wild  dream  ):e 
dreamed,  on  that  first  night  he  spent  at  the  Dubois  House. 
Of  course,  his  belief  in  foregleams  of  future  events  was 
confirmed  by  the  scenes  transpiring  around  him. 

Mrs.  Dubois  sat  near  him,  her  countenance  expressing 
profound  grief. 

**The  dear  young  manP'  she  said.  **  How  sad  and 
aigrful  thus  to  die  I  " 

**  My  dear  madam,"  said  Mr.  Norton,  *Met  us  BOt 
mourn  as  those  who  have  no  hope.  Our  beloved  friend, 
brilliant  and  susceptible,  aspiring  and  tender,  was  illy  fitted 
for  the  rude  struggle  of  life.  It  is  true  he  might  have 
fought  his  way  through,  girt  with  the  armor  of  Christian 
faith  and  prayer,  as  many  others,  like  him,  have  done. 
But  the  fight  would  have  been  a  hard  one.  So  he  has  been 
kindly  taken  home.  Sad  and  awful  thus  to  die?  Say 
rather,  infinitely  blest  the  God-protected  soul,  thus  snatched 
away  from  this  terrific  uproar  of  natural  elements  into  the 
sphere  of  majestic  harmonies,  of  stupendous  yet  peaceful 
powers." 

At  daybreak  the  little  community  took  to  their  boats, 
crossed  the  river  and  re-entered  once  more  the  dwellings 
they  had  but  a  few  hours  before  left,  never  expecting  to 
return  to  them  again.     Some  went   home  and  gathered 


192 


MTTIAMTOHI. 


iheir  families  in  unbroken  nnmbers  around  them.  Others, 
whose  husbands  and  sons  had  been  absent  in  the  forest  at 
the  time  of  the  breaking  out  of  the  fire,  over  whose  fate 
remained  a  terrible  uncertainty,  gathered  in  silence  around 
lonely  hearths.  The  terrors  of  the  past  night  were,  to 
8i\ch,  supplemented  by  days  and  even  weeks  of  heart- 
breaking anxiety  and  suspense,  closed  at  last  by  the 
knowledge  of  certain  bereavement. 

All  had  been  deeply  impressed  with  the  horror  of  the 
scene,  and  sobered  into  thoughtfulness.  A  few  felt  truly 
grateful  to  the  Most  High  for  their  wonderful  nreservation. 


iiers, 
Bstat 
)  fate 
'ound 
e,  to 
iieart- 
Y  the 

>f  the 
;  truly 
nation. 


CHAPTER  XXm. 


THE  SEPABATION. 


With  the  morning  light  and  the  return  to  the  settle- 
ment, Mr.  Lansdowne  awoke  to  a  consciousness  of  the 
duty  immediately  before  him,  that  of  making  arrange- 
ments for  the  safe  conveyance  home  of  the  precious  form 
now  consigned  to  his  care. 

His  friends  at  the  Dubois  house  manifested  the  deepest 
sympathy  in  his  affliction,  and  aided  him  in  every  possible 
way.  In  making  his  journey  he  concluded  to  take  a  boat 
conveyance  to  Chatham,  and  a  trading  vessel  thence  to  his 
native  city. 

The  missionary,  who  since  the  early  spring  h.  I  been 
laboring  up  and  down  the  rivers  St.  John  and  Miramichi, 
now  concluded  to  return  to  his  family  for  the  coming  win- 
ter. Such  had  been  his  intention  and  his  promise  to 
Mrs.  Norton,  when  he  left  home.  He  was  induced  to  go 
at  this  particular  time  partly  by  the  hope  of  rendering 
some  service  to  Mr.  Lansdowne  during  his  journey,  and 
partly  in  order  to  see  Mrs.  Lansdowne  and  impart  to 
her  the  particulars  of  her  brother's  residence  and  illness 
at  Miramichi.    A  scheme  of  mercy  on  the  part  of  the  good 

man. 

17 


194 


MiBAmcm. 


t-  fc 


On  the  return  of  Mr.  Dubois  to  his  house,  he  found  n 
package  of  letters,  which,  in  the  confusion  and  anxiety  of 
the  previous  day,  had  remained  unopened.  There  was 
one  from  the  Count  de  Bossillon,  announcing  the  death 
of  the  Countess.  He  wrote  as  if  deeply  depressed  in 
mind,  speaking  of  the  infirmities  of  age  weighing  heavily 
upon  him,  and  of  his  loneliness,  and  imploring  Mr.  Dubois 
to  come,  make  his  abode  at  the  chateau  and  take  charge 
of  the  estate,  which,  at  his  death,  he  added,  would  pass 
into  the  possession  of  Mrs.  Dubois  and  Adele. 

Mrs.  Dubois's  heart  beat  with  delight  and  her  eyes  swam 
with  tears  of  pleasure,  at  the  prospect  of  once  more  return- 
ing to  her  beloved  Picardy.  Yet  her  joy  was  severely 
chastened  by  the  loss  of  the  Countess,  whom  she  had  fondly 
loved. 

Adele  felt  a  satisfaction  in  the  anticipation  of  being 
restored  to  the  dignities  of  Bossillon,  which  she  was  too 
proud  to  manifest. 

Mr.  Dubois  alone  hesitated  in  entertaining  the  idea  of  a 
return.  His  innate  love  of  independence,  together  with  a 
remembrance  of  the  early  antipathy  the  Count  had  shown 
to  the  marriage  with  his  niece,  made  the  thought  rcpellant 
to  him.  .  A  calmer  consideration,  however,  changed  his 
view  of  the  case.  He  recollected  that  the  Count  had  at 
last  consented  to  his  union  with  Mrs.  Dubois,  and  reflected 
that  the  infirmities  and  loEsliness  of  the  Count  laid  on 
them  obligations  they  should  not  neglect.  He  found, 
also,  that  his  own  love  of  home  and  country,  now  that  it 
could  at  last  with  propriety  be  gratified,  welled  up  and 
overflowed  like  a  newly  sprung  foiintain. 


MIBAMtOldl* 


m 


bund  a 
iety  of 
•e  was 
I  death 
ised  in 
heavily 
Dubois 
charge 
Id  pass 

s  swam 
retum- 
leverely 
I  fondly 


f  being 
was  too 


,ea  of  a 
r  with  a 

shown 
cpellaut 
ged  his 

had  at 
reflected 
laid  on 
I  found, 
r  that  it 
up  and 


The  tornado  had  spent  itself,  ttie  fire  had  rushed  on  to 
the  ocean,  the  atmosphere  had  became  comparatively  clear 
and  the  weather  cool  and  bracing. 

On  the  evening  before  the  departure  of  Mr.  Norton  and 
Mr.  Lansdowne,  the  family  met,  as  on  many  previous 
occasions,  in  the  Madonna  room.  In  itself,  the  apartment 
was  as  cheerful  and  attractive  as  ever,  but  each  one  present 
felt  a  sense  of  vacancy,  a  shrinking  of  the  heart.  The 
sunny  changeful  glow  of  one  bright  face  was  no  longer 
there,  and  the  shadows  of  approaching  separation  cast  a 
gloom  over  the  scene. 

These  people,  so  strangely  thrown  together  in  this  wild, 
obscure  region  of  Miramichi,  drawn  hither  by  such  differ- 
ing objects  of  pursuit,  bound  by  such  various  ties  in  life, 
occupying  such  divergent  positions  in  the  social  scale,  had 
grown  by  contact  and  sympathy  into  a  warm  friendship 
toward  each  other.  Their  daily  intercourse  was  now  to 
be  broken  up,  the  moment  of  adieu  drew  nigh,  and  the 
prospect  of  future  meeting  was,  to  say  the  least,  precarious. 
Was  it  strange  that  some  sharp  pangs  of  regret  filled  then: 
hearts  ? 

Mr.  Lansdowne,  who  had  up  to  this  time  been  wholly 
occupied  with  his  preparations  for  departure,  was  sitting, 
in  an  attitude  betokening  weariness  and  despondency, 
leaning  his  arms  upon  a  table,  shading  his  face  with  his 
hand.  A  few  days  of  grief  and  anxiety  had  greatly 
changed  him.  He  looked  pale  and  languid,  but  Adele 
thought,  as  she  occasionally  glanced  at  him  from  the  sofa 
opposite,  that  she  had  never  seen  his  countenance  so  clothed 
with  spiritual  beauty. 


196 


MIBAMIOIII. 


Mr.  Dubois,  who  had  not  yet  ipoken  to  hii  friends  of 
his  intention  to  remove  to  France,  now  broke  the  heavy 
silenoe,  by  announcing  his  purpose  to  leave,  in  the  course 
of  a  week,  and  return  with  his  family  to  Pioardy. 

Mr.  Lansdowne  started  suddenly  and  uttered  a  slight 
exclamation.  Adele  looked  at  him  involuntarily.  He 
was  gazing  at  her  intently.  The  strange  light  again 
glowed  in  his  eyes.  Hor  own  fell  slowly.  She  could 
not  keep  her  lids  lifted  beneath  his  gaze. 

After  the  plans  of  Mr.  Dubois  had  been  discussed, 
mutual  inquiries  and  communications  respecting  future 
prospects  were  made,  until  the  evening  hours  were  gone. 

**  If  my  life  is  spared,  I  shall  come  hero  and  spend  another 
season,  as  I  have  spent  t^'o  one  just  closing,"  said  Mr. 
Norton. 

Thus  they  parted  for  the  night. 

In  the  morning  there  was  time  for  nothing,  but  a  few 
hasty  words. 

Adele's  face  was  very  pale.  Mr.  Lansdowne,  looking 
as  if  he  had  not  slept  for  many  hours,  took  her  hand,  bent 
over  it  silently  for  a  moment,  then  walked  slowly  to  the 
boat  without  turning  his  head; 

During  days  and  weeks  of  tranquil  pleasure  in  each  other's 
companionship,  these  two  young  beingN  had  unconsciously 
become  lovers.  No  sooner  had  they  awakened  to  a  knowl- 
edge of  this  fact,  than  a  great  danger  and  an  unlooked  for 
sorrow,  while  deepening  the  current  of  their  existence,  had 
also  deepened  their  affection.  Was  that  formal,  restrained 
adieu  to  be  the  end  of  all  this  ? 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 


CHATEAU  DE  ROSSILLO: 


jii 


In  the  year  1828,  three  years  after  the  occurrences 
related  in  the  lost  chapter,  Adelo  Dubois,  grown  irito  a 
superb  btiauty,  stood  near  the  Aphrodite  fountain,  in  front 
of  the  chateau  de  Rossilion,  feeding  from  her  hand  a  beau- 
tiful white  fawn.  It  was  a  warm,  sunny  afternoon  in  June. 
Majestic  frees  shaded  the  green  lawn,  and  the  dark  brown 
hue  of  the  old  chateau  formed  a  fitting  background  for  the 
charming  tableau.  Adele  was  enveloped  in  a  cloud  of  white 
gauzy  drapery,  a  black  velvet  girdle  encircling  her  waist, 
fastened  by  a  clasp  of  gold  and  pearls.  Her  hair  was  laid 
in  smooth  bands  over  her  brow,  then  drawn  into  one  mass 
of  heavy  braids  upon  the  back  of  the  head,  and  secured  by 
a  golden  arrow  shot  through  it. 

One  who  by  chance  had  seen  Adele  in  the  wilds  of  Mira- 

mlchi,  at  the  age  of  sixteen,  would  at  once  recognize  the 

lady  feeding  the  fawn  as  the  same.     At  a  second  glance, 

the  hair  would  be  seen  to  have  grown  a  shade  darker  and 

a  gleam  more  shining,  the   large  sloe-colored  eyes  more 

thoughtful  and  dreamy,  the  complexion  of  a  more  trans- 
170 


198 


MIBAMICHI. 


parent  whiteness,  and  the  figure  to  have  ripened  into  a 
fuller  and  richer  symmetry. 

Nothing  could  surpass  the  exquisite  moulding  and  fair- 
ness of  the  arm  extended  alternately  to  feed  and  caress 
the  pet  animal  before  her.  No  wonder  the  little  creature 
looked  up  at  her  with  its  soft,  almost  human  eyes,  and 
gazed  in  her  face,  as  if  half  bewildered  by  her  beauty. 

With  a  proud  and  stately  grace,  she  moved  over  the 
sward,  up  the  marble  steps  and  passed  through  the  great 
saloon  of  the  chateau.  Was  there  not  a  slight  air  of  indif- 
ference and  ennui  in  her  face  and  movements  ?  Possibly. 
It  has  been  noticed  that  people  who  are  loved,  petted,  and 
admired,  who  have  plenty  of  gold  and  jewels,  who  sit  at 
feasts  made  for  princes,  and  have  the  grand  shine  of  splen- 
dor always  gleaming  round  them,  are  more  likely  to  carry 
that  weary  aspect,  than  others.  Queens  even  do  not  look 
pleased  and  happy  more  than  half  the  time.  The  fact 
was,  that  Adele  of  Miramichi,  having  spent  much  time  in 
Paris,  during  the  last  three  years,  where  she  had  been 
greatly  admired,  now  that  the  novelty  was  over,  had 
become  tired  of  playing  a  part  in  the  pageantry  of  courtly 
life  and  longed  for  something  more  substantial. 

As  she  crossed  the  saloon,  a  page  informed  her  that 
Mrs.  Dubois  wished  her  presence  in  the  library.  She  im- 
mediately obeyed  the  summons.  ; ,   v^ 

This  apartment,  one  of  the  pleasantest  in  the  chateau, 
was  a  favorite  with  the  Count ;  and  as  age  and  infirmity 
crept  upon  him,  he  grew  more  and  more  attached  to  it, 
and  was  accustomed  to  spend  tliere  the  greater  part  of  his 


MIHAMICHI. 


199 


into  a 

1  fair- 
caress 
eature 
3,  and 

er  the 
3  great 
P  indif- 
issibly. 
sd,  and 
0  sit  at 
splen- 
)  carry 
ot look 
he  fact 
time  in 
d  been 
ir,  had 
courtly 

er  that 
she  im- 

hateau, 
ifirmity 
to  it, 
t  of  his 


time,  amused  and  soothed  by  the  attentions  of  Mrs.  Dubois 
and  Adele.  It  was  a  lofty,  but  not  very  large  apartment, 
the  walls  nearly  covered  with  bookcases  of  oak,  carved  in 
quaint  old  patterns  and  filled  with  choice  books  in  various 
languages.  Several  finely  executed  statues  were  placed  in 
niches,  and  one  large  picture,  by  Rubens,  gathered  a  stream 
of  sunshine  upon  its  gorgeous  canvas. 

The  Count  was  sitting,  buried  in  the  purple  cushions  of 
an  easy-chair,  fast  asleep,  and  as  Adele  entered  the  room, 
her  mother  held  up  her  finger,  warningly. 

"  Ma  cherej "  said  Mrs.  I'ubois,  in  a  low  tone,  **  here  is 
a  packet  of  letters  for  you,  from  Paris." 

Adele  took  them  from  her  mother's  hand,  indifferently. 
She  read  and  crushed  together  a  note  bearing  the  impres- 
sion of  a  coat  of  arms. 

**  Count  D'Orsay  and  sister  wish  to  come  here  next 
week, "  she  said,  with  a  half  sigh. 

**  £A,  bien!  ma  chere,  they  are  agreeable  people.  I 
shall  be  glad  to  see  them." 

**  Yes,"  replied  Adele,  Gabrielle  is  \ery  lovely.  Never- 
theless, I  regret  they  are  coming." 

**  Do  you  know,  Adele,  how  highly  your  father  esteems 
the  young  Count?  "     -^ 

"Yes,  mamma,  and  that  is  one  reiison  why  I  do  not 
wish  him  to  come  now  to  Rossiilon.  You  know  he  loves 
me,  and  my  father  approves.  I  can  never  marry  him.  But 
I  esteem  and  respect  him  so  much,  that  it  will  give  me 
infinite  pain  to  say  nay.' 


yii'-Aun 


iViiS  i,»«iJ-?.  v>a'ilii5s'>' 


Mrs.  Dubois  looked  at  Adele  very  tenderly,  yet  gravely, 


*•;:; 


200 


MIBAMICHI^ 


and  said,  '*  Ma  filler  do  not  throw  away  a  true,  devoted 
affection,  for  the  sake  of  a  phantom  vine.  I  fear  that,  while 
you  are  dreaming  and  waiting,  happiness  will  slip  out  of 
your  path," 

"Dreaming  and  waiting,"  repeated  Adele,  a  slight  red 
color  kindling  on  her  cheek,  **  am  I  dreaming  and  waiting  ?  " 

**  It  seems  to  me  you  are,  ma  cherc ;  I  fear  it  will  at  last 
spoil  your  peace.  I  do  not  see  how  the  Count  D'Orsay 
can  fail  to  win  your  heart.     Do  not  decide  hastily,  Adele.*' 

**  I  have  considered  the  affair  a  long  time  already.  I 
have  looked  into  my  heart  and  find  nothing  there,  for 
Count  D'Orsay,  but  simple  respect,  esteem,  and  friendship. 
It  would  be  a  wrong  to  him,  should  I  consent  to  marry 
him,  without  a  wariijer,  deeper  sentiment.  It  is  of  no  use 
thinking  about  it  longer.  The  subject  must  be  closed.  I 
know  I  shall  not  change,  and  his  affection  is  too  true  and 
pure  to  be  tampered  with.  1  shall  tell  him  all  frankly 
next  week." 

**  jEA,  hien  /"  said  Mrs.  Dubois,  with  a  sigh,  and  returned 
to  her  letters. 

Adele,  who  felt  quite  unhappy  to  disappoint  her  mother's 
hopes  in  the  case,  looked  thoughtful.  They  were  both 
silent  for  several  minutes.  ' 

*'  Here  i.',  a  letter  from  the  good  missionary,"  suddenly 
whispered  Mrs.  Dubois,  holding  up  to  her  daughter  several 
sheets  of  large  paper,  well  covered.  *'  See  what  a  nice 
long  one.     Now  we  shall  hear  the  news  from  our  old  home.'* 

She  began  to  read  the  missive  in  a  low  tone,  looking  oc- 
casionally to  see  if  her  voice  disturbeci  the  sleeper^  and 


m 


MIBAMICHI. 


SiOi 


devoted 

t,  while 

out  of 

ght  red 
iltlng?" 
11  at  last 
)'Orsay 
Adele." 
ady.  I 
lere,  for 
indship. 
)  marry 
•  no  use 
>3ed.  I 
:rue  and 
frankly 

returned 

mother's 
re  both 

mddenly 
p  several 
t  a  nice 
1  home.'* 
king  00- 
)er)  and 


Adele,  whose  countenance  had  instantly  brightened  upon 
the  mention  of  the  letter,  drew  her  seat  nearer  to  her 
mother  and  listened  intently. 

MiRAMICHI  BlTEB,    APBIL,   1828. 
DeABFbIENDS —     .-?"  '   :::-^:-■^'^■:.■ 
l  am  again  on  the  memorable  spot.     You 
can  scarcely  imagine  my  interest  in  retracing  the  scene  of 
my  brief  mission  here,  in  the  summer  and  autumn  of  1825, 
or  the  deep  emotion  with  which  I  revisit  your  former  res- 
idence, the  house   under  whose  roof  you  so  kindly  shel- 
tered  and  entertained  one,  then  exiled,  like  yourselves, 
from  home.     I  shall  ever  rejoice  that  Providence  threw  me 
into  your  society,  and  bestowed  upon  me  the  precious  gift 
of  your  friendship. 

Three  years  have  passed  since  those  eventful  weeks  we 
spent  together,  on  the  banks  of  this  beautiful  river,  and 
you  will  be  interested  to  know  what  changes  have  taken 
place  here  during  that  time. 

Traces  are  still  distinctly  visible  of  the  awful  fire,  but 
Time,  the  great  healer  of  wounds,  and  Nature,  who  is  ever 
striving  to  cover  up  the  desolations  of  earth,  are  both  at 
work,  silently  but  diligently  overlaying  the  hideous  black 
disfigurement  with  greenness  and  beauty.  The  Miramichi 
and  its  picturesque  precincts  are  now  more  alive  than  ever, 
with  a  hardy  and  active  population.  New  villages  are 
springing  up  on  the  banks  of  the  river,  and  business,  espec- 
ially in  the  branches  of  lumbering  and  fishing,  is  greatly 
increasing.    There  is  also  a  marvellous  change  in  the  moral 


^02 


MTRAMtOHI. 


f 


aspect  of  the  country.  It  is  ascribed  in  a  great  degree  to 
the  deep  impression  made  upon  the  minds  of  the  people  hy 
the  conflagration,  and  doubtless  this  is  the  fact.  It  must 
be  that  God  had  a  retributory  end  in  view  in  that  great 
event.  It  was  a  judgment  upon  the  community  for  its 
exceeding  wickedness.  Nothing  short  of  a  grand,  wide- 
spread illumination  like  that,  could  have  penetrated  the 
gross  dadcness  that  hung  over  the  land. 

The  way  has  been  thus  prepared  for  the  reception  of  the 
truth  J  and  whereas  formerly  the  people,  if  they  came  at 
all  to  hear  the  preaching  of  God's  word,  were  only  drawn 
by  motives  of  vain  curiosity,  or  the  desire  of  novelty,  they 
now  come  in  great  numbers  and  with  a  sincere  desire,  as  I 
believe,  to  be  instructed  in  the  way  of  salvation.  Last 
year,  I  came  to  this  region  early  in  the  spring  and  labored 
until  late  in  the  autumn,  preaching  Up  and  down  the  river, 
from  house  to  hotise  and  from  grove  to  grove,  and  found 
the  people,  almost  everywhere,  ready  to  hear.  Many 
were  baptized  in  the  flowing  waters  of  the  Miramichi,  made 
n  profession  of  their  faith  in  Christ,  and  hate  since  exhib- 
ited in  their  daily  lives,  good  and  in  some  cases  shining; 
evidence  of  their  sincerity. 

You  may  perhaps  be  interested  to  know  that  yesterday, 
which  was  the  Sabbath,  I  discoursed,  as  in  days  gone  by^ 
in  Micah's  Grove.  The  people  came  in  from  a  great 
distance  around,  and  it  was  estimated  that  there  were  not 
less  than  eight  hundred  present. 

My  soul  was  completely  filled  with  a  sense  of  God's 
unbounded  love  to  the  human  family,  and  my  heart  was 


MIBAMICHI. 


208 


igree  to 
jple  by 
[t  must 
t  great 
for  its 
,  wide- 
tted  the 

• 

1  of  the 
same  at 

drawn 
ty,  they 
ire,  as  I 
«  Last 
labored 
te  river, 
id  found 
Many 
u,  made 
e  exhib- 

shining 

sterday, 
one  hji 
a  great 
irere  not 

if  God's 
;art  was 


enlarged  to  speak  of  the  wonderful  things  beloin^ng  to  His 
goodness  and  mercy  towards  us,  a§  a  race.  I  was  like  a 
bottle  filled  with  new  wine,  my  heart  overflowing  with  the 
remembrance  of  God's  love.  Conviction  was  carried  in 
a  most  signal  manner  to  the  souls  of  many  present.  The 
whole  assembly  seemed  for  a  time  to  be  overshadowed  by 
the  immediate  .Divine  presence. 

It  is  remarkable,  that  though  the  people  do  at  the 
present  time  seem  to  be  under  profound  religious  im- 
pressions, yet  there  are  scarcely  any  traces  of  the  delusion 
and  Wildfire  usually  accompanying  such  seasons,  among  a 
somewhat  uncultivated  and  undisciplined  population.  That 
great  fire  sobered  them,  perhaps. 

But,  my  dear  friends,  I  know  you  are  impatient  to  hea^ 
some  details  respecting  the  state  of  affairs  at  the  *^  Dubois 
Settlement,"  so  called  from  the  grateful  attachment  felt  by 
the  inhabitants  for  a  distinguished  family  once  residing 
there.  The  new  people  who  have  established  themselves 
he)re  of  late,  are  acquainted  with  the  family  just  alluded 
to,  of  course  only  by  tradition,  but  so  deep  has  been  the 
^impression  made  upon  the  minds  of  the  new  cpmers,  by 
Mrs.  McNab,  Micah  Mummychog,  and  others,  of  the 
worth,^  benevolence,  power,  and  pres^it  grandeur  of  said 
tamily,  that  these  persons  are  more  than  willing,  they  feel 
bonoredi  in  retaining  the  name  of  Dubois  in  this  parish. 
The  ^bpve  is  w:ritten,  to  elucidate  to  your  mindc  the  faot» 
obvious  enough  here,  that  you  aren#t  forgotten. 

I^Qw,  yQ\i  will  wifh  to  h^r  -wh^t  has  belalleq  some  of 
the  queer  notabilities  of  the  S^tU«^90t,«    By  ctoi^ayji  I 


204 


MIBAMICHI. 


i^ii'' 


begin  with  Mrs.  McNab.  You  will  remember  her,  as  the 
general  oracle  and  adviser  of  a  certain  portion  of  the 
female  population  in  the  neighborhood,  and  as  greatly 
opposed  to  some  of  the  **  doctreenes,"  as  she  called  my 
instructions  to  the  people.  Well,  she  remains  in  her 
entireness  and  individuality,  her  costume  as  grotesque  and 
her.  speech  as  Scotch  as  ever. 

You  will  be  surprised,  however,  to  learn  that  she  has  a 
far  more  favorable  opinion  of  your  humble  servant  than 
formerly.  I  have  had  some  difficulty  in  accounting  for 
this  change  in  her  disposition.  It  seems,  however,  that  she  i 
had  early  taken  a  prejudice  against  Yankees,  and  had  got  an 
idea,  in  the  beginning,  that  I  had  some  wily  and  sinister  in- 
tentions toward  the  people,  connected  with  my  labors  here. 
No  developments  of  that  kind  having  been  made,  she  be- 
gan to  look  more  complacently  upon  my  efforts,  and  she 
thinks  now  that  the  way  in  which  I  have  endeavored  to 
lead  the  community,  is  not  so  bad  after  all.  i 

**  The  warst  thing  I  had  agen  ye,  was  this,"  she  sajd  to 
me  not  long  since.  "  My  meenister  o'  the  Kirk  at  Dum- 
fries used  to  preach  that  a  pusson,  might  repent  o'  his  sins,  . 
an'  pray  and  pray  a'  his  life  lang,  but  wad  nae  ken,  in  this 
warld,  whether  or  nae  he  was  to  be  saved.  Whereas,  ye 
ken  ye  told  the  people  that  ef  they  repented  o'  their  sins 
and  believed  in  Christ  and  gave  the  evidence  o'  gude  warks 
they  might  settle  right  doon,  and  ken  they  'd  be  saved, 
anyhow.  I  ca'  that  "a  peskalent  doctreen,  an  a  loose  ane 
to  promoolgate.  Though  I  must  confess,  ye  hae  na  dune 
the  meeschief  I  luked  for." 


if 


HTRAMTOHI. 


t05 


\ 


18  the 
of  the 
rreatly 
3d  my 
in  her 
le  and 

e  has  a 
it  than 
ing  for 
that  she 
d  got  an 
ister  in- 
irs  here, 
she  be- 
and  she 
vored  to 


e  said  to 
it  Dum- 
his  sins,  . 
n,  in  this 
ereas,  ye 
bheir  sins 
de  warks 
saved, 
loose  ane 
nadune 


I  did  noi  think  ii  best  to  go  into  a  discussion  of  our  the- 
ological differences,  lest  it  should  stir  up  the  waters  of 
strife,  and  therefore  waived  the  subject. 

Mrs.  McNab  occupies  two  comfortable  rooms  at  Mrs. 
Gampbell's  house,  from  whence  she  issues  forth,  whenever 
occasion  calls,  to  perform  the  duties  of  nurse,  counsellor, 
and  supervisor-general  of  the  domestic  affairs  of  the  com- 
munity. The  tea-drinkings  in  her  parlor  seem  to  be  occa- 
sions of  great  social  enjoyment  to  the  fortunate  neighbors 
invited.  After  the  regular  gossip  of  the  day  has  been 
discussed,  she  entertains  her  company  with  the  same  old 
stories  of  her  former  life  in  Scotland,  among  its  grand 
families,  and  to  these  she  has  added,  for  the  benefit  of 
those  who  have  more  recently  come  into  the  Settlement, 
accounts  of  the  "  Doobyce  "  family,  characterizing  its  mem- 
bers by  remarking,  that  **  Mr.  Doobyce  was  a  braw, 
princely  mon,  his  wife  a  sweet,  fair  spoken  leddy,  an* 
Miss  Ady  was  a  born  queen,  ef  there  ever  was  ane. 
She  had  her  ane  way  wi*  everybody,  an'  e*en  I  mysel* 
hae  gien  up  to  her,  whiles." 

Micah  Mummychog,  alias  Jones,  Mi!!3  Adele's  special 
devotee,  never  a  bad->hearted  person,  has  now  become  one 
of  the  influential  men  of  the  neighborhood,  j.nd  sustains  hero 
every  good  word  and  work.  About  a  year  after  the  great 
fire,  he  had  a  long  and  dangerous  illness,  brought  on  by 
great  exposure  to  cold  while  lumbering  in  the  woods.         • 

Mrs.  McNab  voluntarily  went  to  his  house  and  took  care 
of  him  most  assiduously,  for  many  weeks,  until  his  recov- 
ery.   Micah  said,  that  f  <  it  looked  remarkable  kind  in  the 
18 


20e 


TVmtAMTOHI. 


old  soul  bO  come  of  her  own  accord  and  take  keer  of  him, 
when  he  *d  allers  plagued  her  so  mimascifully." 

He  felt  very  grateful  to  her  and  paid  her  handsomely  for 
her  services.  Nevertheless,  he  teases  her  jet  occasionally 
and  says  **  he  dont  know  neow,  which  skeered  him  most, 
the  great  fire,  or  comin'  to  his  senses  one  night  when  he 
was  sick,  and  seein'  Aunt  McNab  with  her  head  wropped 
up  in  its  cotton  night  gear." 

Subsequent  to  Micah's  recovery,  he  went  to  the  Kenne- 
bec Biver  and  visited  his  friends.  After  his  return,  he 
commenced  trading,  and  is  now  doing  quite  an  extensive 
business.  He  has  entirely  broken  off  from  his  old  habits 
of  swearing  and  gambling,  and  discountenances  them 
among  the  people.  He  attends  religious  worship  constantly, 
and  sets  a  worthy  example  in  keeping  the  Sabbath  day. 

He  is  also  getting  his  ideas  up  on  the  subject  of  educa- 
tion. Not  long  since,  he  told  me  it  was  his  opinion  that 
**  there  warn't  half  school  larnin'  enuf  among  the  people, 
and  there  'd  oughter  to  be  longer  schools.  There 's  Jinny 
Campbell,  there,  a  bright  leetle  imp  as  ever  was,  and  ef 
she'd  had  a  chance  would  a  taken  to  her  books,  like  a 
chicken  to  a  dough  dish.  And  there 's  others,  most. as  smart 
as  she  is,  all  reound,  that  need  schoolin'.  I  feel  the  want 
of  it  myself,  neow  its  tew  late  to  git  it."  ^ 

A  few  days  ago,  Micah  told  me  he  expected  to  build  a 
^new  house  for  himself  soon.  ^ 

"Ah  I  Micah,"  said  I,  **  have  you  got  tired  of  that 
comfortable  old  house  of  yours,  where  we  have  had  so 
many  nice  suppers  and  cosey  times  together?  " 


mSAMIOHI. 


207 


.*^- 


«Wdl,  no,  Captin';  I  hain't,  and  I'mafeerd  I  shall 
never  like  another  place  as  I  dew  that.  But  ye  see,  ef  a 
feller  is  a  goin'  to  git  merried,  he 's  got  to  stir  reound  and 
dew  what  suits  other  folks  as  well  as  hisself."* 

**  Married  I  Micah,"  I  said,  in  complete  astonishment, 
•*  are  you  going  to  be  married?" 

<*  That's  jest  the  way  I  expected  yeou'd  look,"  said  he, 
**  when  I  told  ye  abeout  it,  because  ye  knew  I  used  to 
talk  agin  it,  like  fury.  But  ye  see,  Captin' ;  I  aint  just  as 
I  used  to  be,  abeout  some  things.  I  '11  tell  ye  heow  it 
came  reound,  any  heow,  so  as  to  sahtisfy  ye  I  ain't  crazy. 
"Well,  when  I  was  a  beginnin'  to  git  better  o'  that  terable 
sickness,  the  fust  and  only  one  I  ever  had  iu  my  life.  Miss 
Campbell,  she  used  to  send  Jinny  im,  with  bits  o'  briled 
chicken,  nice  broth  and  sech,  to  kinder  tempt  my  appetite 
like.  The  little  critter  used  to  bring  'em  in  and  be  so 
pitiful  to  me  and  say,  do  Micah  try  to  eat  this,  so  that  you 
may  git  well ;  and  she  seemed  so  pooty,  sincere  and  nateral 
like  in  all  her  ways,  that  I  took  to  her  mightily,  specially 
as  I  had  n't  Miss  Adele  to  look  arter  and  chore  reound  for, 
any  more.  Once  or  twice,  when  she  came  to  bring  suthin,' 
Ant  McNab  kinder  advised  her  to  do  this  and  that,  and 
the  way  the  leetle  critter  spunked  up  and  had  her  own 
way,  made  me  think  o'  Miss  Adele  and  pleased  me  some, 
I  tell  ye. 

**  Well,  arter  I  got  well,  she  seemed  to  be  just' as  chip- 
per and  pleasant  as  ever,  and  was  allers  glad  when  I  wient 
to  the  heouse,  and  so  it  went  on  (I  won't  bother  abeout 
the  rest  on't)  till  six  months  ago.     As  I  was  a  walkin' 


208 


MIBAMIOHI. 


hum  from  a  meetin'  at  the  Grove  with  her,  she  sed,  *  what 
a  pooty  Grove  that  is»  of  yours,  Micah ; '    Witheout  a 
considerin'  a  half  a  minit,  I  eed,  right  away,  *  Jinny,  I'd 
giveyeou  that  Grove  and. all  I  have  beside,  upon  one  condi- 
tion/   I  looked  at  her,  arter  I  'd  sed  it,  as  skeered  as  I 
could  be,  fur  fear  she  'd  fly  right  at  me,  fur  sayin'  sech  a 
thing.    But  she  did  n't.     She  only  colored  up  awfully  and 
sed,  in  a  fluttered  kinder  way,  *  what  condition,  Micah?* 
*  Pon  condition  that  you  *d  merry  me,  Jinny.'    You  may 
believe  that  arter  I  sed  that,  my  heart  stood  still,  better  'n 
a  minit.     She  didn't  say  a  word  at  fust,  seemed  ruther 
took  by  surprise,  and  then,  all  of  a  sudding,  she  turned  her 
head  and  looked  up  inter  my  face  as  sarcy  as  ye  ever  see 
anything,  and  says  s^e,  *  Do  yeou  think  I  'd  ever  merry  a 
man  with  sech  a  horrid  name  as  Mummychog  ?  '    *  Is  that 
all  the  objection  you  hev,  Jinny  ? '  ses  I.     Ses  she,  *  'T  ia 
the  greatest,  I  know  of.'    Then  ses  I,  *  There  ain't  no 
diffikilty,  for  my  name  aint  Mummychog,  and  never  was. 
When  I  came  deown  to  this  kentry,  I  was  a  wild,  reckless 
kind  of  a  critter,  and  I  thought  I  'd  tAke  some  outlandish 
name«  jest  for  the  joke  on  it.     I  took  Mummychog,  and 
they  allers  called  me  so.     But  my  real  name  is  Jones.' 

*  Well,  Mr.  Jones,'  ses  she,    lookin '  sarcier  than  ever, 

*  I  shall  expect  yeou  to  hev  a  sign  painted  with  your  real 
name  on  it  and  put  up  on  your  store,  and  yeou  must  build 
a  new  heouse  before  I  merry  yeou.'  That  sobered  me 
dedwn  a  leetle.  I  sed,  *  But  Jinny,  I  don't  want  ye  to 
merry  me,  unless  ye  like  me.  I  '11  build  a  heouse  and  gin 
it  tew  ye,  ef  that 's  what  ye  want.     But  ye  need  n't  merry 


HIBAMIOHI. 


209 


me  unless  ye  like  me  —  neow  remember.*  She  looked 
at  me,  jest  as  soon  as  I  sed  that»  and  caught  up  my  big 
hand  inter  her  little  one,  and  ses  she,  *  O  law,  Micah,  I  *d 
merry  ye  ef  yer  name  was  Mummychog,  and  ye  need  n't 
build  a  heouse,  nor  nuthin'.  I  ken  go  right  to  the  old 
place  jest  as  well.  I'd  merry  ye  ef  ye  hadn't  a  cent,  for 
I  like  ye  better 'n  anybody  else  in  the  world,  Micah.' 
And  then  she  began  to  cry,  and  I  hushed  her  up.  And  so, 
neow  it 's  all  settled." 

**  Well  Micah,"  said  I,  after  hearing  this  account  of  his 
courtship  of  Jenny  Campbell,  **  I  congratulate  you  on  your 
choice ;  Jenny  is  a  good  girl  and  a  pretty  one.  But  is  n't 
she  rather  young  ?  " 

**  Well,  yis.  I  thought  yeou  'd  be  speakin'  o'  that. 
I  'm  forty  year  old  and  she 's  abeout  eighteen,  or  so.  Con- 
sid'able  difference  in  eour  ages.  I  told  her  abeout  that 
t'other  day,  and  she  sed,  well  she  did  n't  see  but  I  'peared 
abeout  as  young  as  she  did.  She  didn  't  see  much  difference. 
So  ef  she 's  sahtisfied,  I  'd  oughter  be.  But  Captin,'  I  '11 
tell  ye,  she's  a  cur  us  leetle  critter  as  ever  ye  see. 
She  has  spells  of  playin'  off  all  kinds  o'  tricks  on  me  and 
hectorin '  me  every  way  she  ken,  but  the  minit  she  sees 
me  look  sober,  as  ef  I  felt  any  way  bad,  she  leaves  right 
off,  and  comes  up  and  kisses  me,  and  ses  she  did  n't  mean 
anything  by  it,  and  is  as  good  as  a  kitten." 

Alas !  poor  Micah !  You  see.  Miss  Adele,  he  is  in  the 
meshes,  and  there  we  must  leave  him  for  the  present.  I 
have  taken  pains  to  give  you  the  above  in  his  own  Ian- 

180 


210 


MIRAMIOni. 


guage,  as  it  is  so  much  more  graphic  than  «ny  I  oould 
employ. 

My  lottcr  of  Miramichi  gossip  has  swollen,  unoonsoiously, 
to  an  enormous  size,  and  I  fear  I  am  getting  tedious.  Be 
patient  a  few  minutes  longer,  dear  friends,  while  I  tell  you 
of  Mr.  John  Lansdowne. 

I  happened  in  the  city  of  F  —  last  winter,  on  business, 
and  just  before  leaving  town  I  went  to  call  on  Mr.  Lans- 
downe. Aunt  Esther,  Mr.  John  's  nurse,  an  aged  negro 
woman  who  has  been  a  member  of  tlio  household  many 
years,  answered  my  ring  at  the  door.  Finding  that  none 
of  the  family  were  at  home,  I  was  turning  to  leave  when 
Aunt  Esther  begged  me  to  come  in,  saying  she  reckoned  they 
would  soon  be  babk,  as  they  had  already  boon  several  hours 
absent,  adding,  good  soul«  that*' they'd  all  be  dreffuUy 
disapinted  not  to  see  me." 

I  knew  that  several  months  prior  to  this,  Mr.  Lans- 
downe had  been  admitted  to  the  practice  of  law  and  had 
become  junior  partner  in  business,  to  the  distinguished  Mr. 
Eldon  of  P.  And  I  now  gathered  from  Aunt  Esther, 
that  the  Supreme  Court  was  in  session,  and  that  a  great 
crimh  il  case  was  being  tried  before  the  jury.  Mr.  Eldon 
had  been  taken  ill,  just  before  the  trial  Came  on,  and 
had  urged  Mr.  Lansdowne  to  take  his  place  It  Court, 
saying,  he  could  argue  the  case  us  well  as  himr df,  M^*. 
John,  as  Aunt  Esther  informed  me,  did  it  with  gieui.  reluc- 
tar'*e,  though  she  did  n't  see  why*  He  always  does 
everything  he  seta  out  to  do,  'markablo  nioe.  But  Massa 
and  Mibsiis  ^   f  b'nd  of  ".nxious,  and  theyv*e  gone  into 


* 


mn  \Micin. 


911 


Court,  with  other  gemroen  and  Indies,  to  hear  how 't  goes. 
I  feel  no  concern  about  it.  I  know  Ite  11  make  a  Bplen'Id 
talk,  anyhow,  cos  be  olwu  a  dues." 

After  waiting  half  an  hour,  I  was  obliged  to  leave 
messages  of  regret  with  Aunt  EHiher  and  hasten  home. 

I  observed  in  **The  Eastern  Gazette"  of  the 
f  )11ov/ing  week,  a  notice  of  Mr.  Lansdowne's  plea  before 
iuc  j'  iy»  in  the  great  case  of  **  The  Commonwealth  vv 
Tenkins,'*  in  which  he  was  eulogized  in  the  highest  terms, 
lie  was  said  t6  have  displayed  **  great  acumen,  exten- 
sive legal  acquirements,  and  magnificent  powers  of  ora- 
tory.'' So,  Aunt  Esther's  confidence,  about  the  **  splen'll 
talk,"  was  not  without  a  reasonable  basis. 

I  was  highly  gratified,  myself,  in  reading  the  flattering 
paragraphs.  You  know  we  all  greatly  admired  the  y<  ung 
gentleman  at  Miramichi.  He  has  a  brilliant  ear  hly 
future  before  him,  should  his  life  and  faculties  be  spar€3d. 

Mioah  was  much  charmed  with  the  intelligence  I  brought 
him  of.  his  old  favorite. 

**  I  ain 't  a  mite  surprised  at  what  you v'e  sed  abeout  the 
young  man.  Ever  sence  I  took  that  trip  inter  the  woods 
with  him,  I  know'd  he  'd  the  genooine  ring  o'  trew  metal 
tew  him.  When  he  gits  to  be  President  o'  the  United 
States,  I  shall  sell  eout  here  and  go  hum  to  the  Kennebec." 

Please  let  me  hear  from  you  soon,  my  dear  friends.  It 
seems  long  since  I  have  had  tidings  from  you. 

With  an  abiding  gratitude  for  past  kindness,  shown  by 
you  to  a  weary  wanderer  from  home,  and  with  the 
warmest  respect  and  friendship,  I  remain  as  ever, 

Yours  truly, 

Samuel  J.  Nobton. 


212 


MIBAMIOHI. 


Mrs.  Dubois  not  having  but  one  pair  of  eyes,  and  those 
being  fully  occupied  with  the  contents  of  the  above  letter, 
and  the  Count  de  Rossillon  remaining  asleep  during  the  en- 
tire reading,  of  course  it  could  not  be  expected  that  they 
observed  the  changes  that  took  place  on  Adele's  counte- 
nance. But  an  author,  as  is  well  known,  has  ways  and 
means  of  observation  not  common  to  others,  and  here  it 
may  be  remarked,  that  that  young  lady's  face,  had  exhib- 
ited, during  the  last  fifteen  minutes,  or  more,  quite  a  variety 
of  emotions.  It  had  at  first,  been  thoughtful  and  interest- 
ed, then  lighted  with  smiles,  then  radiant  with  enjoyment 
of  the  good  missionary's  sketches  of  Mrs.  McNab  and 
Micah.  But  the  moment  her  mother  read  the  name  of 
John  Lansdowne,  her  face  was  suffused  with  a  deep  crim- 
son, and  she  listened  almost  breathlessly,  and  with  glisten- 
ing eyesjito  the  close. 

*'  Oh  !  the  good  noble  man  !"  said  Mrs.  Dubois,  as  she 
folded  up  the  sheets.  "  It  will  please  your  father  to  read 
this,  where  is  he,  Adele?"  '  . 

"He  rode  away  with  Pierre,  not  long  ago.  Please  let 
me  take  the  letter.  I  must  read  it  again,"  said  Adele, 
having  conquered  her  emotion,  without  her  mother  perceiv- 
ing it.  ■'■■', 

She  took  it  away  to  her  own  boudoir,  and  as"  she  read 
the  pages,  the  Rowing  tears  fell  fast.  Why  should  she 
weep  over  such  a  cheerful  letter  as  that  ?    Why  ? 


i. 


,^imm^ 


"t  ■:■  ■  ""■;;':• 


CHAPTER  XXV. 


THE  LAST  SLEEP. 


.v;..i; 


^.■ 


Ad&le  had  long  since  discovered  that  the  events  of 
greatest  interest  in  her  life  had  transpired  before  she  entered 
the  walla  of  Rossillon,  or  mingled  in  the  festivities  of  the 
Court  at  Paris. 

The  scenes  that  occurred  at  Miramichi,  during  Mr.  Lans- 
downe's  accidental  residence  there,  were  fraught  with  a 
power  over  her  heart,  continually  deepening  with  the  flight 
of  time.  Those  golden  days,  when  their  lives  flowed  side 
by  side,  had  been  filled  with  the  strange,  sweet  agitations, 
the  aerial  dreams,  the  bewitching  glamour,  the  intoxicating 
happiness  of  a  first  and  youthful  love.  Those  days  were  im- 
printed yet  more  deeply  in  her  memory  by  a  consciousness 
that  there  was  somewhat  with  which  to  reproach  herself, 
connected  with  them.  Just  when  she  had  reached  the  top 
of  bliss,  her  pride  had  sprung  up,  and  like  a  dark  storm- 
cloud,  had  shadowed  the  scene.  She  could  not  forget  that 
cold,  6ad  parting  from  her  lover. 

And  now,  though  the  ocean  rolled  between  them,  and 
the  spheres  in  which  each  moved  were  so  widely  separated 
and  the  years  had  come  and  gone,  she  was  yet  calculating 


eu 


MntAMicm. 


.-■'■' 


and  balancing  the  probabilities,  that  they  might  meet  again 
and  the  wrong  of  the  past  be  cancelled. 

Mr.  Lansdowne  had  been  plodding  among  musty  law 
books  and  threading  legal  intricacies,  with  occasional  in- 
terruptions, caused  by  fits  of  impatience  and  disgust  at  the* 
detail  and  tedium  of  study,  until  he  had  at  length  fought 
his  way  thro'jgh  and  placed  himself  in  the  front  rank  of 
his  profession.  His  brilliant  achievement  in  the  famous 
Jenkins  case,  in  the  outset  of  his  career,  had  at  once  won 
for  him  a  position  at  the  bar  which  most  young  men  have 
to  toil  years  to  obtain.  His  family  was  wealthy  and  influ- 
ential. It  was  not  strange  that  with  these  advantages, 
united  to  the  possession  of  remarkable  personal  beauty,  he 
should  be  the  centre  of  a  numerous  group  of  friends  and 
admirers.  He  was  the  object  of  pride  among  the 
older  barristers  and  gentlemen  of  the  bench,  the  cynosure 
of  the  young  men,  and  the  one  among  a  thousand  whom 
elegant  mammas  and  smiling  maidens  wooed  with  their 
selectest  influences. 

Yet  one  great  element  of  earthly  happiness  was  wanting 
to  his  life.  He  could  not  forget  the  enchantment  of  those 
days  spent  in  the  far-off*  wilds  of  Miramiehi.  He  turned 
continually  to  those  scenes,  as  the  most  prominent  of  his 
existence.  There  he  had  stepped  from  boyhood  into  man- 
hood. There  he  had  seen  life  in  new  and  before  untried 
forms.  He  had  there  witnessed  a  wonderful  display  of 
God's  power  through  the  terrible  agency  of  the  all-devour- 
ing flame,  and  there,  for  the  first  time,  he  had  confronted 
death  and  sorrow.     There,  he  had  loved  once  and  as  he 


(f\ 


MIRAMICHI. 


21$ 


again 

ty  law 

lal  in- 

at  the- 

fought 

ank  of 

'amous 

ce  won 

in  have 

d  influ- 

ntages, 

uty,  he 

ids  and 

ig    the 

jrnosure 

i  whom 

th  their 

wanting 
)f  those 
J  turned 
it  of  his 
to  man- 
untried 
splay  of 
-devour- 
nfronted 
nd  as  he 


\ 


believed,  forever.  He  recalled  Adele,  as  she  first  appeared 
before  him,  —  an  unexpected  vision  of  beauty,  in  all  her 
careless  grace  and  sweet,  confiding  frankness ;  in  her  mo- 
ments of  stately  pride,  when  she  chilled  him  from  her  side 
and  kept  him  afar  off*;  and  in  her  moments  of  affectionate 
kindness,  and  generous  enthusiasm.  In  short;  in  all  her 
changeful  moods  she  was  daily  flitting  before  him  and  he 
confessed  to  himself,  that  he  had  never  met  a  being  so  rich 
in  nature  and  varied  in  powers,  so  noble  in  impulse  and  . 
purpose,  so  peerlessly  beautiful  in  person. 

Thus  he  lived  on  from  day  to  day,  remembering  and 
yearning  and  dreaming,  —  the  ocean  yawning  between  him 
and  his  love.  Concealed  in  the  depths  of  his  soul,  there 
was,  however,  a  hope  fondly  cherished,  and  a  purpose  half 
formed. 

A  few  weeks  after  the  reception  of  Mr.  Norton's  letter, 
the  Count  de  Rossillon  died.  Sitting,  as  usual,  in  his 
great  purple-cushioned  arm-chair,  taking  his  afternoon  nap, 
he  expired  so  gently  that  Mrs.  Dubois,  who  was  reading 
by  the  window,  did  not  know,  or  even  suspect,  when  the 
parting  between  spirit  and  body  occurred.  Kindly,  genial, 
and  peaceful  had  been  his  last  years,  and  his  life  went  out 
calmly  as  the  light  of  day  goes  out  amid  the  mellow  tints 
of  a  pleasant  autumn  sunset. 

When  Mrs.  Dubois  went  to  arouse  him  from  what  seemed 
an  unusually  long  slumber,  she  found  a  volume  of  Fenelon 
spread  open  upon  his  knee,  and  turning  it,  her  eye  ran 
over  passages  full  of  lofty  and  devout  aspiration.  These, 
probably  expressed  the  latest  thoughts  and  desires  of  the 


216 


MTRAMICHI. 


good  chevalier,  for  as  she  looked  from  the  pages  to  his 
face,  turned  upward  toward  the  ceiling,  a  smile  of  assent 
and  satisfaction  was  still  lingering  there,  although  his 
breath  had  departed  and  his  pulse  was  still. 

Mrs.  Dubois  stooped  to  kiss  the  forehead  of  her  uncle, 
but  started  back  with  a  sudden  thrill  of  fear.  She  gazed 
searchingly  at  him  for  a  moment,  and  then  she  knew  that 
Death,  the  conqueror,  stood  there  with  her,  looking  upon 
his  completed  work.  >; 

After  the  first  shock  of  surprise  was  over,  she  remained 
gazing  upon  the  spectacle  in  perfect  silence.  A  truly  l'\ 
devout  Catholic,  in  her  grief  she  leaned  with  all  a 
woman's  trust  and  confidingness  upon  the  love  and  power 
of  Christ,  and  something  of  the  divine  calmness  which 
we  associate  with  the  character  of  the  mother  of  our  Lord, 
and  which  has  been  so  wonderfully  depicted  to  the  eye  by 
some  of  the  older  painters,  pervaded  her  spirit. 

As  she  thus  stood,  spellbound,  entranced,  her  eyes 
fixed  upon  the  noble  features  irradiated  with  a  smile  of 
content  and  peace,  the  long  silvery  locks  parted  away  from 
the  forehead  and  flowing  around  the  head,  like  a  halo,  she 
thought  it  the  countenance  of  a  saint,  and  her  poetic  fancy 
created  at  once  a  vision  of  the  Saviour,  with  an  aspect 
grand,  glorious,  yet  gracious  and  benign,  placing  with 
His  right  hand  a  golden  jewelled  crown  upon  her  uncle's 
head.  A  cloud  swept  up  over  the  gorgeous  earthliness  of 
the  great  Kubens  picture,  and  from  out  itsi  folds  shone 
sweet  and  smiling  angel  faces,  looking  down  upon  the 
scene. 


MIBAMCHI. 


817 


to  his 

assent 


Mrs.  Dubois  never  knew  how  long  she  remained  thus  ab- 
sorbed. She  was  first  aroused  by  hearing  a  voice  saying, 
in  tones  of  fervor,  «*  How  blessed  it  is  to  die  I"  And 
Ad^le,  who  had  entered  the  room  a  little  time  before,  and 
had  uttered  these  words,  stepped  forward  and  imprinted  a 
kiss  upon  the  pale  uplifted  brow  of  the  sleeper. 


mained 

truly 

all   a 

power 

which 

r  Lord, 

eye  by 


^  !.-•■    *     ^o. 


\  N-- 


.■1  :-  .-.■     '  ( 


y' 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

POMFEn. 


r  -. 


About  this  period,  Mrs.  Lansdowne,  whose  health  had 
been  declining  for  nearly  a  year,  was  urgently  advised  by 
her  physician  to  seek  a  milder  climate.  John  immediately 
offered  himself  as  her  compagnon  de  voyage^  and  manifested 
great  alacrity  in  the  preparations  for  their  departure  for 
Italy. 

After  a  favorable  sea  passage,  they  landed  at  Civita 
Vecchia,  and,  with  brief  delays  at  Eome  and  Naples,  went 
to  Sorrento,  intending  to  remain  there  several  months. 

This  place  combines  the  most  striking  peculiarities  of 
Italian  scenery.  It  stands  on  a  wide  and  beautiful  plain, 
shut  in  by  the  mountains  and  the  sea.  The  fertile  soil 
produces  oranges,  lemons,  grapes,  and  figs  of  the  richest 
quality  and  in  great  abundance.  The  coast  line,  a  wall  of 
volcanic  rock,  is  broken  into  varied  forms,  by  the  constant 
action  of  the  waters.  Here,  they  spent  day  after  day,  ram- 
bling about  the  old  town,  making  excursions  into  the  neigh- 
boring mountains,  or  crossing  the  bay  to  different  points 
of  interest.  They  delighted  particularly  in  sailing  under 
the  shadow  of  the  cliffs,  watching  the  varying  colors,  blue, 
purple,  and  green,  presented  by  the  glassy  surface,  peering 


MIBAMIOHI. 


219 


into  the  arched  caverns,  worn  into  the  rock  by  the  waves ». 
and  looking  upward  at  the  gay  profusion  of  wild  flowers, 
which,  growing  in  every  crevice,  adorned  its  face  with 
beauty.  From  the  balcony  of  the  hpuse  they  occupied, 
they  looked  upon  gardens,  invisible  from  the  street,  so 
closely  were  they  walled  in  from  the  view  of  the  passer  by, 
and  beheld  orange  and  lemon  trees,  with  rounded  tops  of 
dark  green  foliage,  golden  fruit,  and  snowy  blossoms. «>  The 
soft  air  permitted  them  to  sit  during  the  evenings  and 
listen  to  the  whisper  of  the  sea  on  the  beach,  to  watch  the 
sails  of  the  fishing  vessels  gleaming  in  the  moonlight,  and 
gaze  at  the  dark  form  of  Vesuvius,  with  his  lighted  torch, 
brooding  at  a  distance,  over  the  scene. 

A  mouth  had  thus  passed  away.  A  marked  improve- 
ment had  taken  place  in  Mrs.  Lansdowne's  health,  and 
John  proposed  that  they  should  go  to  Naples  and  make  an 
excursion  thence  to  Pompeii. 

One  morning,  they  drove  out  from  the  swarming  city 
toward  those  famous  ruins,  revealing  to  the  curious  so 
much  of  the  old  Roman  civilization.  After  a  drive  of 
twelve  miles  past  fields  of  lava  and  ashes,  the  accumula- 
tions from  recent  irruptions  of  "Vesuvius,  they  arrived  at 
the  street  of  tombs,  a  fitting  entrance  to  the  desolated 
city.  Here,  the  beautifully  sculptured  monuments,  me- 
morials of  a  departed  generation,  awoke  in  their  hearts  a 
peculiar  interest.  Through  these  they  entered  at  once 
into  the  inner  life  of  joys  and  sorrows  of  an  extinct  race, 

*<  How  terrible  death  must  have  been  to  these  people, 
whose  ideas  of  the  future  world  were  so  vague  and  unsatis- 


220 


MIBAMICHI. 


fjing,  and  who  had  really  no  knowledge  of  immortality  I  ** 
said  Mrs.  Lansdowne* 

**  Yes,"  replied  John.  **  And  with  nothing  brighter 
or  more  glorious  to  look  forward  to  in  the  beyond,  how 
reluctant  they  must  have  felt  to  leave  these  glowing  skies, 
this  delicious  air,  these  scenes  of  beauty  and  art,  for  the 
darkness  of  the  grave.  I  fancy  it  must  have  been  harder 
for  them  than  if  they  had  been  surrounded  with  the  sombre 
tints,  the  chilling  atmosphere,  and  the  more  subdued  forms 
of  life  in  our  own  clime."  '  « 

Leaving  the  cemetery,  they  passed  on  through  tho 
narrow  streets,  paved  with  blocks  of  lava,  on  which  were 
the  traces  of  carriage  wheels  worn  into  the  material  more 
than  eighteen  hundred  years  ago.  They  went  into  the 
Pompeian  houses,  walked  over  the  marble  mosaic  floors, 
looked  at  the  paintings  on  the  walls,  examined  the  bronzes, 
the  statues,  the  domestic  utensils,  the  shop  of  the  oil  mer- 
chant, with  his  name  on  it  still  legible,  until,  in  imagina^ 
tion,  they  began  to  people  the  solitude,  —  bringing  back 
the  gay,  luxurious,  beauty-loving  Pompeians  again  to  live 
and  revel  in  their  former  haunts. 

At  length,  quite  exhausted,  Mrs.  Lansdowne  sank  down 
on  a  seat  in  one  of  the  porticoes,  and  John,  placing  himself 
by  her  side,  tempted  her  to  partake  of  a  lunch  he  had 
provided  for  the  occasion.  />■- 

Soon,  the  pensive  influences  of  the  scene  stole  over  them, 
and  they  sat  for  some  time  in  perfect  silence. 

Mrs.  Lansdowne  first  interrupted^  it,  by  exclaiming, 
**  John,  what  are  you  thinking  of  ?  " 


MIBAMIOHI. 


221 


»» 


**  Thinking  of  I  why  I  was  thinking  just  then  how  those 
Pompeians  used  to  sit  in  these  porticoes  and  talk  of  the  deeds 
of  Cassar  and  of  the  eloquence  of  Cicero,  while  those 
renowned  men  were  yet  livxig,  and  how  they  discussed 
the  great  combats  in  the  amphitheatres  of  Rome.  And 
what  were  you  cogitating,  my  dear  mother?"  said  he, 
smiling. 

**  Oh  1 1  was  thinking  woman's  thoughts.  How  slowly 
they  excavate  here  I  I  have  an  extreme  curiosity  to  know 
what  there  is,'  yet  uncovered  to  the  light  of  day,  beyond 
that  dead  wall  of  ashes." 

"If  I  were  a  magician,  I  would  apply  to  your  eyes 
some  unguent,  which  should  unveil  what  is  there  con- 
cealed," said  John,  smiling.  "Will  you  go  now  to  the 
theatre?" 

He  drew  bis  mother's  arm  within  his,  and  they  moved 
on.  That  portion  of  the  city  appeared  as  if  it  had  been 
partially  destroyed  by  a  coniSagration. 

Looking  towards  Vesuvius,  he  said,  **  I  can  easily 
imagine  the  sensations  of  those  who  gazed  at  the  volcano 
on  that  terrible  day  and  saw  for  the  first  time  its  flames 
bursting  out,  and  throwing  their  horrid  glare  on  the  snow- 
capped mountains  around.     Fire  is  a  tremendous  element." 

As  he  uttered  the  words,  the  scene  of  the  great  confla- 
gration at  Miramichi  rose  to  his  view. 

**'  Salve  !  Salve  ! "  exclaimed  a  rich,  musical  voice  near 
him,  just  at  that  moment. 

The  word  and  the  tone  in  which  it  was  uttered,  thrilled 
him,  like  an  electric  shock.     He  looked,  with  a  bewildered 


222 


MIUAMIOIU. 


air,  in  the  direction  from  whence  the  voice  proceeded,  and 
eaW}  standing  before  the  threshold  of  one  of  the  Pompeian 
houses,  a  toll,  elegant  female  figure,  habited  in  mourning. 

Her  eyes  were  fixed  uponU^e  word  of  salutation,  written 
on  the  threshold,  at  the  entrance.  After  contemplating  it 
a  moment,  she  turned  her  head  involuntarily  towards  Mr. 
Lansdowne,  who  stood  transfixed  to  the  spot.  Their  eyes 
met  in  instant  recognition.  Neither  moved  —  they  were 
both  paralyzed  with  sudden  emotion.     ; 

Mrs.  Lansdowne  looked  up  in  surprise.  • 

"What  is  it,  John?" 

**  It  is,"  said  he,  recovering  himself,  "  it  is,  that  I  am 
astonished  to  meet  here,  so  unexpectedly,  a  friend  whom 
I  supposed  to  be  in  France  —  certainly  not  here," 

He  led  his  mother  forward  a  few  steps  and  presented  her 
to  Mademoiselle  Dubois. 

M.  and  Mdme.  Dubois,  who  were  standing  a  little 
apart,  examining  some  objects  of  interest,  while  this  scene, 
of  recognition  transpired,  now  joined  the  group  and  were 
presented  to  Mrs.  Lansdowne.  During  the  remainder  of 
the  day,  the  two  families  formed  one  party. 

They  visited  the  ruined  theatre,  the  Forum,  the  temples 
of  Isis  and  Hercules,  but  the  spell  of  Pompeii  no  longer 
bound  the  souls  of  John  and  Adele.  It  is  true,  they 
walked  on,  sometimes  side  by  side,  sometimes  with  other 
forms  between,  absorbed,  entranced;  but  a  spirit  more 
potent  than  any  inhabiting  the  walls  of  the  old  Koman  city 
had  touched  the  powers  of  their  being  and  woven  its  sor-  |, 
ceries  around  them.  The  living  present  had  suddenly  shut 
out  the  past.  ^ 


\ 


MIRAMIOIU. 


22a 


they 
other 
more 
n  city 
9  sor-  * 
yshat 


So,  after  three  years,  they  had  met.  Such  meetings 
are  critical.  In  the  lapse  of  time,  what  changes  may  oc- 
cur I  There  is  so  much  in  life  to  mar  the  loyeliest  and 
noblest !  In  regard  to  character,  of  course  no  one  can  stand 
still.  There  is  either  a  process  of  deterioration  going 
on,  or  a  work  of  intellectual  and  spiritual  advancement. 
Memory  and  imagination  glorify  the  absent  and  the  dead. 
The  lovers  had  been  constantly  exercising,  respecting  each 
other,  their  faculty  of  idealization .  When  they  parted ,  they 
were  young,  with  limited  experiences  of  life,  with  slight 
knowledge  of  their  own  hearts.  It  was  a  dangerous  mo- 
ment when  they  thus  met. 

But  there  was  no  disappointment.  Mr.  Lansdowne 
gazed  upon  Adele,  with  emotions  of  surprise  and  astonish- 
ment at  the  change  a  few  years  had  wrought  in  her  and 
marvelled  at  the  perfection  of  her  beauty  and  manner. 

Adele,  albeit  she  was  not  used  to  the  reverential  mood, 
experienced  an  emotion  almost  verging  into  awe,  mingled 
with  her  admiration  of  the  noble  form,  the  dignity  and 
stately  grace  of  him  who  had  so  charmed  her  girlish  days. 

Thus  the  acquaintance,  broken  off,  in  that. cold,  re- 
strained morning  adieu,  on  the  banks  of  the  Miramichi,  was 
renewed  under  the  sunny,  joyous  sky  of  Italy.  Their 
communion  with  one  another  was  now  no  longer  marred  by 
youthful  waywardness  and  caprice.  During  those  long 
years  of  separation,  they  hod  learned  so  thoroughly  the 
miseries  attending  the  alienation  of  truly  loving  hearts, 
that  there  was  no  inclination  on  the  part  of  either,  t  >  trifle 
now.  Day  by  day,  the  hours  they  spent  together  be- 
came sw«eter,  dearer,  more  fuU  of  love's  enchantment. 


224 


MIJIAMIOBI. 


**  Mademoiselle  Dubois/'  said  Mr.  Lansdowne,  a  few 
weeks  after  their  recognition  at  Pompeii,  **  I  think  I  did 
not  quite  do  justice  to  that  famous  oxcuvatod  city,  when  I 
visited  it.  I  was  so  occupied  with  the  i)loasure  of  meeting 
old  friends  that  I  really  did  not  examine  objects  with  the 
attention  they  deserve.  To-morrow  I  intend  to  revisit  the 
spot  and  make  amends  for  my  neglect.  Will  you  give  me 
the  pleasure  of  your  company  ?  " 

**  Thank  you,  Mr.  Lansdowne,  I  shall  be  happy  to  go 
with  you.  A  week  spent  there,  could  not  exhaust  the  in- 
terest of  the  place." 

The  two  families  were  still  at  Naples  and  from  that  city 
Mr.  Lansdowne  and  Adele  started  again  to  visit  Pompeii. 

No  evidence,  as  to  the  amount  uf  antiquarian  lore  ac- 
quired on  that  day  by  our  two  lovers  has  yet  transpired, 
but  it  is  certain  that,  while  wandering  among  the  ruins,  they 
come  before  the  threshold. of  the  door,  whore  Adele  was 
standing,  when  first  recognized  by  Mr.  Lansdowne. 
There,  he  gently  detained  her,  and  explained,  how  that 
ancient  salute  of  welcome  to  the  guest  and  the  stranger, 
when  uttered  by  her  lips,  hod  thrilled  his  heart ;  how  it  hod 
been  treasured  there  as  an  omen  of  good  for  the  future, 
and  how  the  memory  of  it  now  emboldened  him  to  speak 
the  words  he  was  about  to  utter.  There,  within  sight  of 
Vesuvius  and  with  the  fiery  memories  of  Miramichi  hanging 
upon  the  hour,  he  renewed  the  avowal  of  his  love,  first 
made  in  the  haste  and  efiervesoence  of  youthful  passion. 

And  now,  Adele  did  not,  as  then,  fly  from  his  presence. 
She  simply  put  her  hand  in  hli,  and  pronounced  in 
sweet  and  almost  solemn  accents,  the  irrevocable  promise. 


MIRAAlICni. 


8Jt5 


In  the  meantime,  Mrs.  Lansdowne  had  been  cultivating 
the  friendship  of  M.  and  Mdme.  Dubois.  She  was  grati- 
fied to  have  an  opportunity  of  thanking  them  in  person, 
for  their  hospitality  and  kindness  to  her  son  and  brother 
in  Miramichi.  Her  profound  gratitude  for  attentions  to 
those  BO  dear  to  her,  would  have  proved  a  bond  of  suffix 
cient  strength  to  unite  her  to  these  naw  acquaintances. 
But  she  was  attracted  to  them  also  by  traits  of  mind  and 
character  unfolded  in  their  daily  intercourse. 

The  discovery  of  John's  attachment  to  Ad^le  explained 
many  things  in  his  conduct,  during  the  last  few  years,  that 
had  appeared  enigmatical.  With  this  fact  made  clear  to 
her  mind,  it  may  well  be  supposed  that  she  observed  the 
young  lady  with  keen  scrutiny.  At  the  end  of  a  week, 
John  confessed  his  intention  to  win  Adele  if  possible  for 
his  wife.  His  mother  had  no  objection  to  such  an  alliance, 
and  only  wished  him  success  in  his  efforts. 

*  Ha^ng  spent  six  weeks  together  at  Naples  and  Sorrento, 
the  party  pursued  their  travels  leisurely,  for  several 
months,  through  Italy  and  Germany,  until  at  length  they 
reached  France.  After  a  visit  at  Paris,  they  located 
themselves  quietly  at  the  chateau  de  Bossillon,  where 
preparations  were  soon  commenced  for  the  marriage. 

'It  was  obset^ed,  that  the  lovers,  supposed  to  be  the 
parties  most  particularly  interested,  were  remarkably  in- 
different in  regard  to  these  affairs*  When  needed  for 
consultation  oh  important  arrangements,  they  were  re- 
ported to  be  off,  riding  or  driving  or  wandering  in  some 
remote  port  of  the  park,  and  when  at  last,  an  opportunity 


226 


MIRAMIOra.- 


occurred  to  present  some  point  for  their  consideration,  they 
seemed  to  have  no  particular  opinions  on  the  subject. 

With  a  very  decided  taste  of  her  own,  in  matters  of 
dress,  not  less  than  in  other  things,  Adele  could  not  be 
made  to  attend  to  the  details  of  the  trousseau,  and  at  last 
the  two  older  ladies  took  it  into  their  own  hands.-  ^^ 

In  the  mean  time,  the  lovers  were  leading  a  rapturous 
life  in  the  past,  the  present,  the  future.  In  the  past  they 
remembered  the  morning  glories  of  Miramichi;  in  the 
present  they  saw,  daily,  in  each  other's  eyes,  unfathomed 
depths  of  love ;  as  to  the  future  it  shone  out  before  them,, 
resplendent  with  the  light  of  an  earthly  Paradise. 

At  last,,  the  wedding  day  came,  and  the  parting  between 
Adele  and  her  parents.  It  was  a  great  sacrifice  on  the 
part  of  M.  and  Mdme.  Dubois,  But,  remembering  their 
own  early  trials,  they  miide  no  opposition  to  Adele's  choice. 
They  sought  only  her  happiness. 


n. 


r 


CHAPTER  XXVn. 


CONCLUSION. 


On  a  dark,  stormy  day,  in  the  winter  of  1845,  at  ten 
o'clock,  afternoon,  a  tall,  stout,  elderly  man,  muffled  in 
fur,  rang  at  the  door  of  Mr.  Lansdowne. 

The  house  was  large,  of  brown  stone,  and  situated  on 
H —  Street,  in  the  city  of  P . 

As  the  servant  opened  the  door,  the  hall  light  fell  upon 
a  face  of  strongly  marked  featureB,  irradiated  by  an  expres- 
sion of  almost  youthful  cheerfulness.  To  the  inquiry,  if 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lansdowne  were  at  home,  the  servant  re- 
plied, that  they  were  absent,  but  would  return  shortly. 

**Miss  Adele  is  in  the  drawing-room  sir,"  be  added, 
immediately  throwing  open  the  door  of  that  apartment,  to 
its  widest  extent,  as  if  to  insure  the  entrance  of  Mr.  Nor- 
ton, for  it  was  no  other  than  the  good  missionary  of  Mira- 
michi.  He  was  still  the  warmly  cherished  and  highly 
revered  friend  of  the  entire  family. 

Adele,  a  young  lady  of  sixteen,  was  sitting  on  a  low 
seat  in  the  drawing-iroom,  beneath  a  blaze  of  waxen  candles, 
intently  occupied  with  a  new  book.  She  gave  a  start  on 
being  recalled  so  sudileitly  from  thi&iancy  laaad  in  which  she 


ipi 


228 


MI3UMICHI. 


was  roaming,  but  after  a  moment  of  bewilderment,  flung 
aside  her  book,  came  quickly  forward,  put  her  arms  around 
the  nedk  of  Mr.  Norton,  who  bent  down  to  receive  them, 
and  welcomed  him  with  a  cordial  kiss. 

"  Every  day  more  and  more  like  your  mother.  Miss 
Adele,"  said  he,  as,  after  returning  her  salutation,  beheld 
her  at  arm's  length  and  surveyed  her  from  head  to  foot. 

<<  Papa  and  mamma  will  be  home  soon,"  said  Adele. 
**  They  went  to  dine  at  Mr.  Holbrook's.  It  is  time  for 
their  return." 

**  All  right,  my  dear.     And  how  are  you  all?"  \ 

The  young  lady  led  him  to  a  large,  cushioned  arm-chair, 

♦*  How  did  you  leave  mamma  Norton,  Jenny,  and 
Fanny?" 

"  All  quite  well.  And  they  sent  love;  "  replied  the 
missionary.  ;  *   * ; 

«*  How  is  Gray  Eagle?"  <-  v' 

**  Ah  I  Gray  Eagle  is  good  for  many  a  trot  round  the 
parish  yet."  ^  ^ 

**  I  have  not  forgotten  how  he  shot  over  the  hills  with 
me,  last  summer.  He  began  his  scamper,  the  moment  I 
was  fairly  seated  on  his  back.  I  hope  he  has  sobered  down 
a  little  since  then,"  said  Adele. 

"  Yes,  I  remember.     Gray  Eagle   knew  well  enough 
that  the  little  sprite  he  carried,  liked  a  scamper  as  well  as 
himself.     The  animal  is  quite  well,  I  thank  you,  and  is  on 
good  behavior.     So  are  your  other  acquaintances,  Cherry,  s" 
the  cow,  and  Hodge,  the  cat."  •  ^     .i      .  v'^^-^ 

**  I  am  glad  to  hear  it.    I  had  a  charming  visit  at 


MlRAMICm. 


229 


Rockdale  last  summer.  Johnny  and  Gabrielle  are  wild 
to  go  there.  But  mamma  and  I,  and  all  of  us,  were  so 
disappointed  because  you  would  not  consent  to  Fanny  and 
Jenny  coming  to  spend  the  winter  with  us.  Mamma  says 
she  does  not  quite  understand  yet  why  you  objected." 
,  **  Ahl  well,  my  dear,  I'll  make  it  all  right  with  your 
mamma.  The  fact  is,  I  wish  to  get  a  few  rational  ideas 
into  the  heads  of  those  precious  little  ladies  before  they  are 
launched  out  into  city  life.  Just  a  little  ballast  to  keep 
them  from  capsizing  in  a  gale." 

*<  Mamma  says  they  are  both  very  much  like  you,"  said 
Adele,  archly. 

<*  True,  my  dear.  That  makes  it  all  the  more  necessary 
to  look  after  them  carefully." 

After  a  few  moments  of  chat,  Adele  left  the  room  to 
give  orders  for  hastening  supper. 

During  her  absence,  Mr.  Norton,  with  his  eyes  fixed 
upon  the  glowing  grate,  fell  into  a  fit  of  musing.  Look 
at  him  a  moment,  while  he  sits  thus,  occupied  with  the 
memories  of  the  past.  Twenty  years  have  passed  since 
he  was  introduced  to  the  attention  of  the  reader,  a  mission- 
ary to  a  remote  and  benighted  region.  He  is  now  sixty 
years  old,  and  very  few  have  passed  through  gieater  toil 
and  hardships  than  he  has  endured,  in  asserting  the  claims 
of  the  Redeemer  to  the  gratitude  and  love  of  the  race. 
Yet  his  health  and  vigor  of  mind  are  scarcely  impaired, 
and  his  zeal  continues  unabated. 

Beginning  his  journey  early  each  spring  and  returning 
to  his  family  late  every  autumn,  he  had  spent  sixteen  suc- 
20 


no 


DIBAMIGHI. 


«essive  summers  in  Miramichi,  engaged  in  self-imposed 
labors.  Each  winter,  he  wrought  at  his  anvil,  and  thus 
helped  to  maintain  an  honest  independence. 

Four  years  previous,  a  parish  having  become  vacant,  in 
the  town  where  he  resided,  it  was  urged  upon  his  accept- 
ance, by  the  unanimous  voice  of  the  people.  By  his 
efforts,  a  great  change  had  been  wrought  in  the  field  of 
his  past  labors  and  a  supply  of  suitable  religious  teachers 
having  been  provided  there,  he  accepted  the  invitation  as  a 
call  of  Divine  Providence,  and  had  ministered  to  the  spirit- 
ual wants  of  the  people  of  Bockdale  since.  \ 

Business  called  him  occasionally  to  the  city  of  P.  His 
visits  there  were  always  regarded  by  the  Lansdownes  as 
especial  favors.  The  two  families  had  frequently  inter- 
changed visits  and  had  grown  into  habits  of  the  closest 
intimacy.        ,  j- /,•.- v?  ,■;_■. -u-'^  ■■.•.,..-•,, •■;f-'-* 

Having  been  in  the  city  several  hours  and  dispatched 
the  affairs  which  drew  him  thither,  he  had  now  come 
to  look  in  upon  his  friends  for  the  night,  expecting  to 
hasten  away  at  day  dawn. 

There  was  something  in  his  situation  this  evening,  thus 
housed  in  warmth,  light,  and  comfort,  protected  from  the 
darkness  and  the  storm  without,  and  ministered  unto  by  a 
lovely  young  maiden,  that  reminded  him  of  a  like  scene, 
that  had  occurred,  twenty  years  ago.  He  vividly  recalled 
the  evening,  when,  after  a  day  of  toil  and  travel  on  the 
banks  of  the  distant  Miramichi,  he  reached  the  house  of 
Dubois,  and  how  while  the  tempest  raged  without  he  was 
cheered  by  the  light  and  waiJith  within,  and  was  miilistered 


■/ 


MIBAMICHI. 


231 


imposed 
Qd  thus 

icant,  in 
I  accept- 
By  his 
field  of 
teachers 
tion  as  a 
he  spirit- 
\ 

P.    His 

ownes  as 
tly  inter- 
Q  closest 

ispatched 
ow  come 
ecting  to 

ling,  thus 
from  the 
into  by  a 
ke  scene, 
y  recalled 
el  on  the 
house  of 
it  he  was 
miilistered 


unto  by  another  youthful  maiden,  in  form  and  feature  so 
like  her,  who  had  just  left  him,  that  he  could  almost  imag- 
ine them  the  same.  A  glance  around  the  apartment, 
however,  dispelled  the  momentary  fancy.  Its  rich  and 
beautiful  adornments  afforded  a  striking  contrast  to  the  ■ 
appointments  of  that  humble  room. 

He  was  roused  from  his  medit&tions  by  the  ringing  of 
the  street  bell,  and  in  a  moment  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lansdowne 
came  forward  to  welcome  their  early  and  long-tried  friend. 

The  good  man,  who  loved  them  with  an  affection  akin 
to  that  which  he  felt  for  his  own  family,  had  preserved  a 
watchful  care  over  their  earthly  and  spiritual  welfare. 
Sometimes  he  feared  that  their  wealth  and  |ame  might 
draw  away  their  hearts  from  the  highest  good  and  impair 
the  simplicity  of  their  religious  faith. 

After  the  first  cordial  greetings,  in  accordance  with  his 
habit  on  occasions  like  this,  he  indulged  in  a  careful  scru- 
'  tiny  of  his  two  friends. 

Time  had  in  no  wise  impaired  the  charms  of  Mrs.  Lans- 
downe. Experience  of  life,  maternal  cares,  and  religious 
duties  had  added  a  softer  light  to  her  once  proud  beauty, 
and  her  old  friend  might  well  be  pardoned  a  thrill  of  admi- 
ration as  he  gazed  and  thought  within  his  heart,  that  Mrs. 
Lansdowne,  robed  in  black  velvet,  Mechlin  lace,  and  the 
diamonds  of  the  house  of  Bossiilon,  surpassed  in  loveliness, 
the  radiant  Adele  Dubois,  arrayed  in  the  aerial  garments  of 
girlhood. 

When  also  his  keen  eye  had  wandered  over  the  face  and 
figure  of  John  Lansdowne,  it  returned  from  its  explora- 


232 


MIBA3IICHI. 


tions  satisfied.  No  habits  of  excess  bad  impaired  the 
muscular  strength  and  vigor  of  his  form.  Nor  had  un- 
governed  passion,  avarice,  political  craft,  or  disappointed 
ambition  drawn  deep  defacing  lives,  to  mar  the  noble 
beauty  of  his  countenance. 

*^  It  is  well  with  them  still,"  ejaculated  the  good  man 
mentallj,  "  and  may  God  bless  them  forever." 


THE  END. 


y.:y 


PIQUE: 

A, Tale  of  the  English  Aristocracy. 


1  vol.    12ino.    Price  $1.75. 


Three  thousand  eight  hundred  and  seventy-six  new  books  were 
published  in  England  this  last  year,  which  is  about  the  ayera^e 
number  of  past  years. 

Thirteen  years  ago  Pique  y^s  first  published  in  London,  and 
up  to  the  present  time,  notwithstanding  the  enormous  number 
of  new  books  that  have  been  issued,  the  effect  of  which  is  to 
crowd  the  old  ones  out  of  sight,  this  remarkable  novel  has  con- 
tinued to  have  a  large  sale. 

This  is  the  strongest  praise  that  can  be  bestowed  on  any  book. 

It  is  not  in  the  least  "  sensational,"  but  relies  solely  on  its  rare 
beauty  of  style  and  truthfulness  to  natui'e  for  its  popularity. 

It  has  the  merit  of  being'  amusing,  pleasantly  written,  and 
engrossing. 

The  characters  being  high-bred  men  and  women,  are  charm« 
ing  companions  for  an  hour's  solitude,  and  one  puts  the  book  aside 
regretfully,  even  as  one  closes  the  eyes  on  a  delicious  vision. 
The  American  edition  has  taken  every  one  by  surprise,  that  so 
remarkably  good  a  novel  should  have  so  long  escaped  attention. 

Every  body  is  charmed  with  it,  and  its  sale  is  immense^  an4 
wiU  endure  for  years  to  come. 


FIITH  EUTIIEn  CimillOD. 


By  the  Author  of  '  Joys  at  OheqnaBset." 


1  vol.,  12mo.    Cloth.    Price  $1.50. 


This  charming  story  fills  a  void  lonj^  felt  for  something  for  a 
young  girl,  growing  into  womanhood,  to  read. 

It  depicts  that  bewitching  period  in  life,  lying  between  rouB- 
TEEN  and  TWENTY,  with  its  noble  aspirations,  and  fresh  enthusi- 
asm. It  is  written  by  a  very  accomplisbed  lady,  whose  previous 
book  was  universally  pronounced  to  be  "  the  best  Boys*  book 
written.'* 

A  lady  of  rare  culture,  and  wide  experience,  says,  — 

"  'Faith  Gartney's  Girihood,'  is  a  noble,  good  work,  that  could  only 
have  been  accomplished  by  an  elevated  mini  united  to  a  chaste,  tender 
heart.  From  the  first  page  to  the  last,  the  impression  is  received  of  a  life 
which  has  been  lived ;  the  characters  are  genuine,  well  drawn,  skilfully 
presented ;  they  are  received  at  once  with  kind,  friendly  greeting,  and 
followed  with  interest,  till  the  last  page  compels  a  reluctant  farewell. 

"  'The  book  is  written  for  girls,  grovring  as  they  grow  to  womanhood.' 
The  story  has  an  interest,  far  beyond  that  found  in  modern  romances 
of  the  day,  conveyed  in  pure,  refined  language ;  suggestive,  pleasing 
thoughts  are  unfolded  on  every  page;  the  reflective  and  descriptive 
passages  are  natural,  simple,  and  exquisitely  finished. 

"  In  these  days,  when  the  tendency  of  society  is  to  educate  girls  for 
heartless,  aimless,  factitious  life,  a  book  like  this  is  to  be  welcomed  and 
gratefully  received.  Wherever  it  is  read,  it  will  be  retained  as  a  thought- 
ful, suggestive  —  if  silent — friend." 

^|:Jf»  Parents,  give  it  a  wide  circulation. 


t 


TT^IOE    LOST. 

By  S.  M.,  Author  of  "Linnet'B  Trial." 

»■■■■—■■  — 

Head  the   Opinions   of  tlio   X^nffllsli   Press. 

Another  flrst-rato  novel  by  a  woman !  The  plot  well  conceived  and  worked  out,  the 
cli  iracters  individualized  and  clear-cut,  and  the  story  so  admirably  told  that  you  are 
hurried  along  for  two  hours  and  a  half  with  a  smile  often  breakini^  out  at  the  numor, 
a  tear  ready  to  start  at  the  pathos,  and  with  unflagging  IntercBt,  till  the  heroine's  re- 
ItMiso  i>om  all  trouble  is  announced  at  the  end.  •  *  •  We  h«!urtlly  recommend  the 
book  to  all  readers.  It  is  more  tall  of  character  than  any  book  we  remember  siuoo 
Charles  Reade's  "  Christie  Johnstone."  —  i2ea(2er. 

«  Twice  Lost "  is  an  entertaining  novel ;  the  struggle  between  the  high-spirited,  gen- 
erous, half-savage  heroine,  another  specious,  handsome,  unprinclplea,  aoi-duant 
father,  is  exciting ;  and  the  sympathy  of  the  reader  is  cleverly  enlisted  for  the 
heroine,  Lucia,  fVom  the  first  moment.  The  personages  have  all  of  them  a  certain 
look  of  reality,  and  there  is  a  notion  of  likeness  which  insures  the  reader's  interest. 
We  can  recommend  "  Twice  Lost "  as  a  novel  worth  reading.  —Atherueum. 

By  far  the  cleverest  book  on  our  list  is  "  Twice  Lost."  *  *  *  This  is  bold  and 
Bkilnil  drawing,  and  it  is  a  fair  sample  of  the  earlier  half  of  the  volume.  The  com- 
bined vigor,  ease,  and  perspicuity  of  the  writing  is  unusual.  —  Guardian, 

Nothing  can  be  better  of  its  kind  than  the  first  portion  of  "  Twice  Lost."  *  •  • 
The  caustic  humor  and  strong  common  sense  which  mark  the  sketches  of  character 
In  this  book,  betray  a  keenness  of  obBcrvation  and  aptitude  for  producing  a  telling 
likeness  with  a  few  strokes,  which  need  only  a  wider  cultivation  to  secure  a  more 
complete  success  than  has  been  attained  in  "  Twice  Lost."  —  Weatminster  Jteview, 

It  Is  quite  clear  that  the  author  has  given  a  good  deal  of  thought  to  the  oonstruo- 
tion  of  the  story,  with  a  view  to  producing  strong  interest  without  the  use  of  the 
common  sen- xtional  expedients.  To  say  that  "  Twice  Lost "  is  very  well  written, 
and  very  inter  ating,  would  not  be  doing  It  justice.— Jlfomin^  Herald. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  of  the  author's  power.  She  holds  her  characters  and  inci- 
dents well  in  hand,  writes  firmly,  and  often  very  happily,  and  there  are  many  pas- 
sages which  indicate  power  much  above  mediocrity.  —  London  Review. 

Not  very  often  do  we  meet  with  a  novel  so  thoroughly  good  as  "  Twice  Lost."  If, 
as  may  be  assumed  fi-om  both  subject  and  style,  its  author  is  a  woman,  she  may  at 
once  be  classed  with  the  BrontS  sisters  and  George  Eliot.  She  has  the  firm  concep- 
tion and  distinct  touch  of  the  first-class  artist.  Her  characters  are  real  and  indi- 
vidual. —  Prc»». 

This  is  a  iifell-written  romantic  talc,  in  which  we  And  many  pleasing  incidents  and 
some  suocessfVil  portraiture  of  character.  The  character  of  Miss  Derwent,  the  com- 
panion and  governess  of  the  nerolne.  Miss  Langley,  is  very  well  developed  in  the  . 
course  of  the  narrative.  The  moral  tone  of  the  dook  is  very  good,  and  so  far  as  re-  ' 
liglouB  matters  are  touched  ui>on,  they  are  treated  with  propriety  and  reverence. 
— English  Churchtiian. 

The  characters  are  well  drawn— the  situations  arc  new,  the  sentiments  are  unsen- 
timental, and  the  incidental  remarks  those  of  a  clever  woman  who  is^'easonablc  and 
tolerant.  —  Globe. 

The  plot  of  this  tale  is  an  original  one,  and  well  worked  out.  *  *  *  We  can  sin- 
cerely recommend  this  tale ;  it  is  quite  out  of  the  general  run  of  books,  and  is  sure  to 
prove  an  interesting  one.  —  Observer. 

We  notice  this  story  because  its  authoress  will  one  day,  we  believe,  produce  a 
powerful  novel.  —  Spectator. 

The-reader  is  carried  along  with  unflagging  and  exciting  interest,  and  the  book  is 
fall  of  characters  finely  sketched,  and  of  passages  powerfully  written.  —  Patriot. 

That  the  author  of  "  Twice  Lost "  can  write  well,  the  book  itself  ftimlshes  suffi- 
cient evidence. — Nation. 

This  is  a  striking  storyl  It  has  a  fireshncss  and  originality  about  it  which  are  very 
pleasant. — Morning  Advertiser, 

Without  being  a  sensation  novel  this  is  a  most  exciting  and  attractive  story.  — 
Daily  News, 

A  most  romantic  story,  the  Interest  being  well  sustained  throughout,  and  every 
thing  coming  right  at  the  end.    Any  one  must  be  entertained  by  it, — John  Bull. 


1      Margaret  and  her  Bridesmaids. 

BY  TIIK  AVTHOn  OF 

••Tlie  Ijady  of  Olynne/'  **Mr.  and  :Mr«.  Ashton," 

••Valley  of  a  Hundred  HHree,"  "The  LadieH 

of   Lovel   ILieish,**    ••Tlie   Cliallenae,'* 

••  The   Queen  of  the  County .i* 

Uniform  with  "Pique."    1  vol.,  12mo.    Cloth.    Price  f  1.50. 


^>^ 


This  talented  authoress  ranlcs  first  among  the  successful  female  novel 
writers  of  England.  Her  books  are  immensely  popular  there ;  edition 
after  edition  of  each  has  been  called  for,  and  the  announcement  of  a  new 
one  from  her  pen  creates  a  new  demand,  and  increases  the  popularity 
of  what  has  been  published.  By  an  arrangement  with  her  and  her  Eng- 
lish publishers,**  all  her  books  are  to  bo  brought  before  tlie  American 
public,  where  she  is  almost  wholly  unknown,  except  to  the  readers  at 
LORING'S  CIBCULATING  LIBRARY,  and  they  are  enthusiastic 
over  them. 

"Margaret  and  Her  Bridesmaids"  is  the  one  chosen  to  introduce 
her  with,  as  this,  she  writes  mo,  has  enjoyed  the  greatest  popularity  in 
England.  This  will  be  followed  by  "  Tub  Qdebn  of  tub  County,"  and 
the  others,  as  fast  as  compatible. 

It  is  the  history  of  four  school-girls. 

The  London  Athenaum,  the  highest  literary  authority,  says  of  it:  *'  We 
may  save  ourselves  the  tronhK  if  giving  any  lengthened  review  of  tiiis 
book,  for  we  recommcn  '  .ill  who  are  in  search  of  a  fascinating  novel,  to 
read  it  for  themselves.  They  will  find  it  well  worth  their  while.  There 
Is  a  fireshness  and  originality  about  it  quite  charming,  and  there  is  a  cer- 
tain nobleness  in  the  treatment,  both  of  sentiment  and  incident,  which  is 
not  often  found.  JTo  imagine  that  few  can  read  it  witliout  deriving  some 
comfort  or  profit  fi:om  the  quiet  good  sense  and  unobtrusive  words  of 
counsel  with  which  it  abounds." 

The  story  is  very  interesting.  It  is  the  history  of  four  school-fellows. 
Margaret,  the  heroine,  is,  of  course,  a  woman  in  tii  highest  state  of 
perfection.  But  Lotty — the  little,  wilful,  wild,  fascinating,  brave  Lotty 
— is  the  gem  of  the  book,  and,  as  far  as  our  experience  in  novel  reading 
goes,  is  an  entirely  original  character — a  creation  —  and  a  very  charm- 
ing one.  No  story  that  occurs  to  our  memory  contains  more  interest 
than  this  for  novel  readers,  particularly  those  of  the  tender  sex,  to  whom 
it  will  be  a  dear  favorite. 

We  hope  the  authoress  will  give  us  some  more  novels,  as  good  as 
<<  Margaret  and  her  Bridesmaids." 


d^n^KV 


